"My little Hoddy! You used to love me; and I have always loved you. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. 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. Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. If only you knew what this means to me!" "We do, lad," replied McClintock, gravely. .
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