You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face.
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