Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. Come every day to see you was flourishing. 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. He continued alternately to be tossed in the air, or rolled in the kennel until he was borne out of sight.
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