WHEN LUNACY WAS TRUMPS
"‘No harm shall befall a single whisker in his venerable beard, gentle sirs,' vouchsafed Tib, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of the much-prayed-for bikes.
"Our insurgents then burst into a song of abuse and threw down their cartel of defiance, and said they were tired of a fat old Monmouth and that they would change allegiance and aid King James's followers in executing us on the now-finished gibbet. By this time we were close to the little hall, and in the bright moonlight could admire every detail of the clumsy yet businesslike-looking gallows. What added to our fear was the sound of shouting in the hall, where, through the lighted windows, we beheld a motley group of scamps, dancing and waving home-made weapons. But just then, like a beacon-light to the hopeless mariner, we caught the friendly twinkle of our bikes' frames, and with one accord we pushed the King against the deserters, and as they tumbled and romped on the ground we bent our hot footsteps towards the goal.
"In a second, it seemed, the hall had disgorged more enemies, and the whole pack were after us as we gained our perambulators and tried to hop the saddles.
"‘Where do I come in, Monmouth?' howled the drummer.
"‘Lord, if we haven't forgotten the spy!' cried
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