I longed to get out of their sound and forget the speaker.

Who was he, a convict's son, to accuse me as he had?
Half an hour ago it had been I who had wronged him.

Now, to my smarting mind, it seemed as if it was he who was the wronger, and I the wronged.
"Hullo, old fly-by-night," suddenly exclaimed a voice beside me, as I walked slowly on my way; "what's the joke?
Never saw such a fellow for grinning, upon my honour.

Why can't you look glum for once in a way, eh, my mouldy lobster ?" I looked up and saw Doubleday, Crow, Wallop, and Whipcord, arm-in-arm across the pavement, and Hawkesbury and Harris following on behind.
"Still weeping for his lost Jemima, I mean Bull's-eye," said Wallop, "like what's his name in the Latin grammar." It wasn't often Wallop indulged in classical quotations, but when he did they were always effective, as was the case now.
My recent adventure had left me just in an hysterical mood; and try all I would, I could not resist laughing at the very learned allusion.
"Bull's-eye be hanged!" I exclaimed, recklessly.

"Hear, hear," was the general chorus.