"And his lordship, furthermore, requests me to state," proceeded Sharples, in a hoarse tone, "that he'll be responsible for the doctors' bill of all such gem'men as have received broken pates, or been otherwise damaged in the fray—ough! ough!"
"Hurrah!" shouted the mob.
"We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices.
"Ay, good luck to him! so we have," rejoined Terence; "but we've no objection to take out the dochter's bill in drink."
"None whatever," replied the mob.
"Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples.
"Long life to the Markis, and we accept his honourable proposal," responded the mob.
"Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!"
"Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt.
"Troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but I couldn't belave it. In futur', I'll keep the 'Evenin' Star' for his lordship's enemies."