Then Tom Myers piped up, bravely but nervously.
“Us as was here last night, sir, ’d like to thankye f’r helpin’ out a Thu’sday night the way yu did. It wur good o’ yu, sir.”
“Aye, it wur,” chorused Jacob Hood and some others, including a wizened-looking little man in the corner of the side bench.
“Forget it,” Gees counselled them, “and have another on me, all round. Set ’em up, Mr. Churchill— whatever they like to call. I’ve had a good day, and feel just like that.”
“Nay,” objected the little man in the corner. “Reckon, bein’ pay night, it’s f’r us to ast yu What’ll yu like, mister, specially since we heerd the beauty o’ Denlum’ll be seen about again, now.”
“Thass right, Tod,” Tom Myers assented. “Now, chaps, give it lung!”
He led off with— “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and the res
