The door opened. Jack and his comrade went to the Mint, where he was joined by Edgeworth Bess, with whom he sat down most unconcernedly to supper. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. They’ve just got to keep white. It has been already intimated that Jack had an excessive passion for finery; and it might have been added, that the chief part of his ill-gotten gains was devoted to the embellishment of his person. She had never seen so much food in her life as she saw at her own wedding feast. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. They sat down at the dining room table which seemed empty and 259 huge in the stark, white-walled room. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. He then looked around him with some curiosity; and, as the thief-taker was occupied in giving directions to his attendant in an undertone, ample leisure was allowed him for investigation.
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