“They are coming past our table. He has got five minutes' start of you. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence. ” “I was late. G'night, kids. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. There haven't been so many ladies in the Lodge since the days of Claude Du Val, the gentleman highwayman; and they all declare it'll break their hearts if he's scragged.
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