Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. "But are you really there?" "No, I'm here," answered Jack, leaping down. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. "These writer chaps are queer birds.
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