“There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said. "Look quick, d—n you, or we shall never master him!" "Murder!" shrieked Mrs. Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. He smothered it down with such a good will that the reaction set his heart to pounding. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Jonathan, in all probability, knows nothing of these packets; and their production may serve to intimidate him. But Jack was too nimble for him. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly.
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