From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. You have been to see your sister, of course. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know.
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