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Jonathan shook his head. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. “Your success here is absolutely meteoric. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy.
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