Capes and her father stood up, and her father made a belated movement toward the curtain. 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. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident.
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