Is the Boy at the Nore!
AS SAFE AS THE BANK.
[1] A word caught from some American Trader in passing.
THE RUN-OVER.
“DO you see that ’ere gentleman in the buggy, with the clipt un?” enquired Ned Stocker, as he pointed with his whip at a chaise, some fifty yards in advance. “Well, for all he’s driving there so easy like, and comfortable, he once had a gig-shaft, and that’s a fact, driv right through his body!”
“Rather him than me,” drawled a passenger on the box, without removing his cigar from his mouth.
“It’s true for all that,” returned Ned, with a nod of his head equal to an affidavit. “The shaft run in under one armpit, right up to the tug, and out again at t’other besides pinning him to the wall of the stable—and that’s a thing such as don’t happen every day.”
“Lucky it don’t,” said the smoker, between two puffs of his cigar.
“It an’t likely to come often,” resumed Ned, “let alone the getting over it afterwards, which is the wonderfullest part of it all. To see him bowling along there, he don’t look like a man pinned to a stable-wall with the rod through him, right up to the tug—do he?”