‘Either you tell me why you want the wretched animal, or it stays here. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. "Good-bye, young man; and good luck. .
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