“You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. "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. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. What was his problem, she thought to herself. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian.
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