“Am I dull?” she said. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. It was explosive and gratifying. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. For a moment she remained silent. "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.
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