"Oh, worser and worser and worser," pursued Thomas, changing suddenly to adverbs.
"Rawly now—!" The King's English tottered to his knees.
"I did," prompted Gwendolyn, eager to help him.
"I did," repeated the King's English—but the polished tongue slipped from his grasp!
"I seen!" followed up Thomas. "I sung!" Crack! Crack!
It was the last fatal onslaught.
The scarlet-coated figure fell forward. Yet bravely he strove again to give tongue-lash for tongue-lash—by reaching out one palsied hand toward his weapon.
"I—I—s-a-w!" he muttered; "I s-s-s-ing!"—And expired, with his last breath gasping good grammar.
Instantly Thomas leaped the prostrate figure and strode to the Gate. He was breathing hard, but looking about him boldly. "Now I come through," he boasted.
"O-o-o!" It was Gwendolyn's cry. "Officer, don't let him! Don't!"