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. "All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. "He's about to cross the river. ” “But how? It has only been a few days!” “She’s not even here. "No bones broken, I hope," said Thames, laughing at Jack, who limped towards the bench, rubbing his shins as he went. ” She said wistfully. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink.
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