1724 THE PRISON-BREAKER. Mother and Son. Now you're up, take this spike. I shall want you. "No; we never had one; at least, I never saw it. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. Wait a moment. The floor was planked with oak, and covered with iron staples, hooks, and ringbolts, with heavy chains attached to them. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes.
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