Her patience was waning fast. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. He never finished his sentence. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window. The father would be all steel. 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.
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