"You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. Mr. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father.
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