’ ‘Ah, then indeed I thank you,’ said Melusine on a sigh of relief, moved for once to smile at the captain. White assented. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. But her words were not addressed to Melusine. “Really, Vee, you seem to have advertised our relations pretty generally!” “They—they knew, of course.
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