“We had that, and Cross. is a beauty, besides having been hung.”
“I want to see him carefully dissected,” said a handsome, light-haired youth, joining the group.
“Why, Ned, do you expect ever to undergo the innocent operation of being hung?”
“Can’t say. No telling what a fellow may come to in such a crowd as this. If Strong ever sings another sentimental song in my presence I’ll murder him—now mind.”
“Crosstree is a magnificent subject. I was looking at him to-day—old S. says he never saw a finer.”
“Class B has a finer, they say—a girl. They gave two hundred for her.”
“They wont be outdone. But I believe in the rope yet. Come, fellows—it’s getting late—let’s be off.”
“Where’s Dudley?”
“Drunk as usual.”
“Come, old boy,” said the first speaker, approaching our hero, who, stretched upon a sofa, was looking in the fire with a drunken stare. “Come, we’ll be too late.”