Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. " Spurlock grew limp in his chair. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. He’s been near it once or twice already. But do not awaken my apprehension, unless you have good cause for so doing. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. I consented.
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