“I suppose all life is an affair of chances. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. Sc. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed.
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