Mike put it in the club yes'day." The burial-club, Mrs.Sprowl meant, and Harriet evidently understood the allusion.
"Have you walked ?" went on the woman, doubling up her paper, and then throwing it aside.

"Dessay you could do with somethin' to take the cold orff yer chest .-- Liz," she called out to some one behind the bar, with which the parlour communicated by an open door; "two Irish!" The liquor was brought.

Presently some one called to Mrs.Sprowl, who went out.

Leaning on the counter, in one of the compartments, was something which a philanthropist might perhaps have had the courage to claim as a human being; a very tall creature, with bent shoulders, and head seeming to grow straight out of its chest; thick, grizzled hair hiding almost every vestige of feature, with the exception of one dreadful red eye, its fellow being dead and sightless.

He had laid on the counter, with palms downward as if concealing something, two huge hairy paws.