Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. "But I happen to be an honest man myself. He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree. " "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear. "Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard.
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