Ennison was deeply interested. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. The oaken beam, nine inches in thickness, was now the sole but most formidable obstacle to his flight. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. It was too good to be true.
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