I’d rather it was my own station.”
“Ochone! ’tis all over,” says he,
“For the neckcloth I am forced to put on,
And by this time to-morrow you’ll see
Your Larry will be dead as mutton;
Bekase why?—his courage was good!”
The boys they came crowding in fast;
They drew all their stools round about him,
Six glims round his trap-case were placed—
He couldn’t be well waked without ’em.