Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. "We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack," whispered Poll Maggot.
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