“Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. "Ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated Jackson sternly. Do you know this, Sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions.
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