“Why?—poor lad,” protested Joey. “We can’t leave him here!”
“Mustn’t touch ’im till there’s been a inkwess,” said Smiler, excitedly.
“I don’t keer for no inkwesses,” grumbled Joey; “I shall want to come here directly to wash my hops.”
“What’s the matter?” cried the first of several men who came down the narrow alley. “Ingin busted?”
“Nay; look ye here,” cried Smiler, excitedly, and there was a low, suppressed exclamation from the group that crowded up.
“Better get a gate and carry him out,” said one.
“Couldn’t get a gate down here,” said another.
“And yer mustn’t touch ’im till there’s been a inkwess,” cried Smiler.
“Is he dead?” said one of the new-comers.
“Ay,” said one of the first four. “We sin the nedders come away from him. Stinged to death.”