"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. "Will you plead?" demanded Wild, harshly.
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