" "Miscreants!" cried Sheppard, almost driven frantic by the violence of his emotions; "you're all in league with him. Old London Bridge. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. “I’m five years older than you, and no end wiser, being a man. You can borrow any of my outfits anytime, you know. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. ’ ‘I will not.
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