She left for good after he fell asleep. “Go it, miss!” cried one. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. ‘There’s a surgeon on his way, and my men are under orders to do whatever is needful. I mean—I mean to do what I can.
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