" Du Val was hang'd, and the next who came On the selfsame stone inscribed his name: "Aha!" quoth the dubsman, with devilish glee, "Tom Waters your doom is the triple tree! With your chisel so fine, tra la!" "Tut, tut, tut," he cried, "what a fool I am to be sure! I ought to have cut John, not Jack. When the carpenter a moment afterwards stretched out his hand, scarcely knowing whether he was alive or dead, he found himself alone. For that matter, my future be damned. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Cut it as short as you can. "Who's there?" cried Rachel. Smith, he'll swing after next Old Bailey sessions. "Either he or you must return with me," answered Jonathan. " The order was promptly obeyed. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. But I'll never part with your irons.
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