Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. Jack was not half your age when he died.
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