But it looked as if the boy was not going to be of much use. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. “Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. ‘Parbleu,’ came indignantly from the lady. "Not I," replied Blueskin. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Hastily ascending these steps, Jack found the door, as he anticipated, locked. It seems to me very silly. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate.
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