"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. “I am too much in earnest,” he answered, “to be able to take this matter lightly. 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. " And springing backwards, he darted suddenly through the door. Of course, it really signified nothing in this careless part of the world that she was travelling alone.
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