She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. 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. It was better even than the hymn-singing.
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