‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. “Lucy, that is so sad. ” Ennison laughed softly. ” “Is it necessary,” he said, “for me to tell you——” “Stop, please,” she said firmly. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps.
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