' For without 'God save the King' 'tis no riot,
and a man cannot be hanged for it. So be very particular to say
'God save the King,' John Sprott, and put 'em all in the wrong."
John Sprott bawled again, and this time achieved the whole formula.
"That's better, John Sprott. And you--" his Worship turned upon the
Methodists, "you just listen to this, now--"
"_Our sovereign Lord the King--_"
Here, as the Methodists stood before him with folded hands, a lump of
filth flew past the Mayor's ear and bespattered the lamp-post.
"Damme, who did that?" his Worship demanded. "John Sprott, who threw
that muck?"
"I don't know the man's name, your Worship: but he's yonder, there,
in a striped shirt open at the neck, with a little round hat on the
back of his head; and, what's more, I see'd him do it."
"Then take down his description, John Sprott, and write that at the
words 'Our sovereign Lord' he shied a lump of muck."
John Sprott pulled out a note-book and entered the offence.
"And after 'muck,' John Sprott, write 'God save the King.' I don't
know that 'tis necessary, but you'll be on the safe side.
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