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And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. She has married some one he could not approve of, and gone right away. "Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs. Wood. And don't worry about the six thousand, Hoddy. You can’t do without an agent, and there’s no one can run you better than I can. " "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt.
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