Chapter V

Now sithee theer at th' railroad crossin' Warmin' his-sen at the stool o' fire Under the tank as fills the ingines, If there isn't my dearly-beloved liar!

My constable wi' 'is buttoned breast As stout as the truth, my sirs!--An' 'is face As bold as a robin! It's much he cares For this nice old shame and disgrace.

Oh but he drops his flag when 'e sees me, Yes, an' 'is face goes white ... oh yes Tha can stare at me wi' thy fierce blue eyes, But tha doesna stare me out, I guess!