Some of your sex, I mean. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. " "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. "Ho, no," replied Jack. Had it not been lashed to the adjoining wherry, it must have been upset, and have precipitated the opponents into the water. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. “Just the box only. I don’t want to know.
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