"Is the old fox in?
Is the old fox out?
Is the old fox gone to Glo-ry?
Oh, he's just come in,
But he's just gone out,
And I hope you like my sto-ry!
Tink-a-diddle-diddle-diddle,
Tink-a-diddle-diddle-dum--"
"Rap louder," I said.
Mount obeyed, chewed reflectively, and scratched his ear.
"Is the Tory in?
Is the Tory out?
Is the Tory gone to Glo-ry?
Oh, he's just come in.
But he's just gone out--"
"Knock louder," I repeated.
Murphy said he could drive the door in with his gun-butt; I shook my head.
"Somebody's coming," observed Mount--
"Tink-a-diddle-diddle--"
The door opened and a lean, dark-faced man appeared, dressed in his smalls and shirt. He favored us with a sour look, which deepened to a scowl when he recognized Mount, who saluted him cheerfully.
"Hello, Beacraft, old cock! How's the mad world usin' you these palmy, balmy days?"