But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. In the corner of the room were two hockey-sticks and a tennis-racket, and upon the walls Ann Veronica, by means of autotypes, had indicated her proclivities in art. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains. I won’t even ask. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose.
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