And watched the wreck on the road, sir, as if he looked on death.
The road was strewn with pieces, and, to tell you the truth, sir, then
I thought of the Bank in London I never might see again.
I thought of the manager’s look, sir, if vacant my seat were seen
On the morrow when I was due there—and all through a friend’s machine!
However, I thought I’d risk it; I couldn’t desert a friend,
So we set to work with a will, sir, the broken wheel to mend,
And after some skilful hammering our joy can well be guessed
When we saw the wheel go round again, though shaky at the best.
Well, we stopped at a neighbouring “public”—of the rest I know no more;