“Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. This incredible scene robbed him of the sense of locomotion. Shari laughed hysterically and was promptly shushed by Larry from the next room.
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