In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. “Ungracious little beast, I call her. Brown strode to center stage and Lucy quieted the instruments with a gesture. He installed Anna in a comfortable easy chair, and placed his own between her and the door. 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.
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