Ain't you, Jacky darling?" "Not quite, Poll," returned Mr. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. Are you quite shure you haven't another alyas, Masther Thames Ditton?" "Darrell, I tell you. "Yes; but what is good isn't always proper. "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising.
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