Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. "And his lordship, furthermore, requests me to state," proceeded Sharples, in a hoarse tone, "that he'll be responsible for the doctors' bill of all such gem'men as have received broken pates, or been otherwise damaged in the fray—ough! ough!" "Hurrah!" shouted the mob. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet.
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