To this Jack replied, that he should be perfectly contented, provided he might have a small allowance of gin. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. Dashing through the open door, he crossed the Old Bailey, plunged into a narrow court on the opposite side of the way, and was out of sight in a minute, baffling all pursuit. "Well, Jack," he said, after a pause, "are you disposed to go back quietly with me?" "You'll ascertain that when you attempt to touch me," rejoined Sheppard, resolutely. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. She still had her letter of credit.
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