There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. “If I cut her neck, you’ll never get the stains out of your fancy car. And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw fit to alter his views upon friendship. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. “I am the most foolish of men.
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