John Sprott. My good woman"--he turned to Miss Whiteaway--"would you
mind taking a glance out of window and telling me what has become of
John Sprott?"

"He's down below under protection of the soldiers," announced Miss
Whiteaway; "and no harm done but his hat lost and his gown split up
the back."

"I shall never have the same confidence in John Sprott. He takes
altogether too sanguine a view of human nature. Why, only last
November--you remember the great gale of November the 1st, Sir John?
I was very active in burying the poor bodies brought ashore next day
and for several days after; for, as you remember, a couple of
Indymen dragged their anchors and broke up under Pendennis Battery:
and John Sprott said to me in the most assured way, 'The town'll
never forget your kindness, sir. You mark my words,' he said,
'this here action will stand you upon the pinnacles of honour till
you and me, if I may respectfully say it, sit down together in the
land of marrow and fatness.' After that you'd have thought a man
might count on some popularity. But what happened? A day or two
later--that is to say, on November the 5th--I was sitting in my shop
with a magnifying glass in my eye, cleaning out a customer's watch,
when in walked half a dozen boys carrying a man's body between 'em.
You could tell that life was extinct by the way his head hung back
and his legs trailed limp on the floor as they brought him in, and
his face looked to me terribly swollen and discoloured.
'Dear, dear!' said I. 'What? Another poor soul? Take him up to the
mortewary, that's good boys,' I said; 'and you shall have twopence
apiece out of the poor-box.' How d'ye think they answered me?
They bust out a-laughing, and cries one: 'If you please, sir, 'tis