The Dean.
I discovered its inefficacy, after a prolonged period of ineffectual whistling.
Georgiana.
But we ascertained the road the genial constable was going to follow. He was bound for the edge of the hill, up Pear Tree Lane, to watch the Races. Directly we knew this, Tris and I made for the Hill. Bless your soul, there were hundreds of my old friends there—welshers, pick-pockets, card-sharpers, all the lowest race-course cads in the kingdom. In a minute I was in the middle of ’em, as much at home as a Duchess in a Drawing-room.
Sir Tristram.
A Queen in a Palace!
Georgiana.
Boadicea among the Druids! “Do you know me?” I holloaed out. Instantly there was a cry of “Blessed if it ain’t George Tidd!” Tears of real joy sprang to my eyes—while I was wiping them away Tris had his pockets emptied and I lost my watch.
Sir Tristram.
Ah, Jedd, it was a glorious moment!