“It seems you’ve had some awful shoves.”

“The Chronicle,” his agent cried,

“Has went an’ bin an’ bought some doves!

Them traitors, wretches, swindlers, cheats,

Hev smashed us up like polywogs.

They’ve knocked, I guess,

Our hoss express

Higher than any kite,” said Boggs.

“Have you no plan?” asked Mister Swain,

“To keep the fellows off our walks?”