" "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance. But I have not done so, and will not. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. Let me only wear your livery. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. Considering how little he lets her have. Lucy's grin faded. Their doors stood open, and placards with big letters indicated the section assigned to each. Nothing seemed to be amiss.
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