“I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. His number was unlisted and unpublished. I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven. “Yes, I remember,” she said. She hastened past. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. Sindlesham tried. Caliban absolutely crowed with delight. 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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