" "I could make a fine sketch of him now," whispered Hogarth to Gay. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest. ’ The fellow seized on this. ’ ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning.
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