" "Mend!" echoed Mrs. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. ” He intoned. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. He continued alternately to be tossed in the air, or rolled in the kennel until he was borne out of sight. "A good idea!" exclaimed the carpenter. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. ” “You are really going on the stage, then?” he said slowly. "You knew better than to bring her here under the circumstances. In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. .
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