"Shpeak up, vill you?" cried Abraham, rapping his knuckles against the hatch. Jack tried it, and found it locked. Wood went on fuming, and the trio went on laughing for some minutes, nobody knew why or wherefore, until the party was increased by Mr. "With me?" said Thames. You know how stubborn they get. ’ ‘Good. “What are you doing?” he asked. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run. “Very likely,” he answered. ‘Never.
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