our got a coffin and carried it up to the
hospital, and stood it on end by the doorway.

'"I've come for me lovely mate!" he said to the scared staff--or as much
of it as he baled up and couldn't escape him. "Hand him over. He's going
back to be buried with his friends at Th' Canary. Now, don't be sneaking
round and sidling off, you there; you needn't be frightened; I've
settled with the doctor."

'But they called in a man who had some influence with the Flour, and
between them--and with the assistance of the prettiest nurse on the
premises--they persuaded him to wait. Dinny wasn't ready yet; there were
papers to sign; it wouldn't be decent to the dead; he had to be
prayed over; he had to be washed and shaved, and fixed up decent and
comfortable. Anyway, they'd have him ready in an hour, or take the
consequences.

'The Flour objected on the ground that all this could be done equally as
well and better by the boys at Th' Canary. "However," he said, "I'll
be round in an hour, and if you haven't got me lovely mate ready--look
out!" Then he shook his fist sternly at them once more and said--

'"I know yer dirty tricks and dodges, and if there's e'er a pin-scratch
on me mate's body--look out! If there's a pairin' of Dinny's toe-nail
missin'--look out!"

'Then he went out--taking the coffin with him.

'And when the police came to his lodgings to arrest him, they found the
coffin on the floor by the side of the bed, and the Flour lying in it on
his back, with his arms folded peacefully on his bosom. He was as
dead drunk as any man could get to be and still be alive. They knocked
air-holes in the coffin-lid, screwed it on, and carried the coffin, the
Flour, and all to the local lock-up. They laid their burden down on the
bare, cold floor of the prison-cell, and then went out, locked the door,
and departed several ways to put the "boys" up to it. And about midnight
the "boys" gathered round with a supply of liquor, and waited, and
somewhere along in the small hours there was a howl, as of a strong
Irishman in Purgatory, and presently the voice of the Flour was heard to
plead in changed and awful tones--

'"Pray for me soul, boys--pray for me soul! Let bygones be bygones
between us, boys, and pray for me lovely soul! The lovely Flour's in
Purgatory!"

'Then silence for a while; and then a sound like a dray-wheel passing
over a packing-case.... That was the only time on record that the Flour
was heard to swear. And he sw