At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. Let's go up and see how the patient is doing. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house.
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