A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Talked about his years, his position and his constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin. Here, turnkey. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. By the side of her plate was a small key. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously. " Hastening from this heart-rending spectacle, Jack soon reached the grating that divided the men's compartment from that appropriated to the women. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. I hung around Harvard a little when you were there. ’ He believes that she denies it simply because owing to my marriage with Sir John, whom they call the ‘Puritan Knight,’ she wants to keep her identity secret. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters.
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