"I told you the prison wasn't built that could hold me," cried Jack. I told the soldier how he must go by the passage, and he found it and brought it here. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. I am shockingly poor. "No matter," replied Sheppard. “You’ve interested me enormously. "I suspect our friend has thought better of it, and won't come," he remarked. “None, I thank you,” he answered. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners.
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