“You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the Sunday. I was always used to it, and I think it gives quite a tone to an establishment. You see, my riddle is solved. 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.
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