Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. Blueskin will take care of the horses, and I'll go with you.
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