'—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. Suffer me to precede you. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. “It is just six o’clock now. Gosse must now fight with his back to the altar, and a dais at his heels. ‘I’ve had enough of this.
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