Good biz! Now then, sir, another 'arf a yard.

That's the call! Hands on this bough and foot on the bank there.

One, two, three--knew you'd do it! Safe as houses, Gawd bless yer bully heart!" And then as Cleek, wet, white, panting, dragged himself out of the clutch of the whirlpool and lay breathing heavily on the ground: "By gums, Gov'nor," Dollops added as he looked down on the whirling waters, "what an egg-beater it would make, wouldn't it, sir?
Ain't got such a thing as a biscuit about yer, have you?
Me spine's a rasping holes in me necktie, and I'm so flat you could slip me into a pillar box and they'd take me home for a penny stamp." But Cleek made no reply.

Wet and spent after his fierce struggle with the whirling fury he had just escaped, he lay looking up into Ailsa's eyes as she came to him with the sobbing child close pressed to her bosom and all heaven in her beaming face.
"It is not the 'funeral wreath' after all, you see, Miss Lorne," he said.

"It came near to being it; but--it is not, it is not.