Struggle, strife, and din;
Night bells chiming,
Souls declining
Into deeps of sin.”
“Why, where are you running to? What the deuce is the matter with you?” said the man left behind in the gin-temple, who had followed and overtaken the frightened runaway. “You’re not going to get rid of me in this fashion to-night, I can tell you. I have got a little job for you to lend a hand in. Follow me!” and he takes him by the arm.
They go on down a street towards the river, and in a dark bye-place, under a gateway, they meet two other men, with crape-masks on their faces and iron instruments in their hands.
“Jim!” said one of the disguised men, “is that you?”
“All right!”
“Who have you got there?”
“A new friend of yours and mine. It’s all right with him, too. He has been to ‘my Uncle’s,’ and another shop since then. He’s regularly in for it, now.”