“Softenin’ o’ t’ brain, Ambrose, more nor softenin’ o’ t’ ’eart,” said Sam.
“Be that as it may,” returned Ambrose, “he’s getten his mouth sponged clean and that’s a merricle—”
At this moment the landlord, who had been summoned from the room whilst the conversation was in progress, put his head in at the door.
“Swithin!” he said in such a strange voice that all present turned to look at him and saw a look of consternation on his face, “you’re wanted at once.”
Swithin looked startled; but rose painfully and having knocked the ashes out of his pipe went over to the landlord.
“Who is it wants me?” he asked.
“Jack Pearce!” Albert answered. “He’s just outside.”
He closed the door behind the old man and turned to the company.
“Their Polly’s made away wi’ herself, poor lass! She couldn’t stand t’ shame on’t; and there’s Jack Pearce swearing he’ll swing for Inman!”