"By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. " And, with this generous resolve, he shouted at the top of his voice, "Arrest! arrest! help! help!" seconding the words with a shrill and peculiar cry, well known at the time to the inhabitants of the quarter in which it was uttered. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word.
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