Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. Especially when they wear cologne.
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