The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. " "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences.
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