The landlord opened the door, and gave orders for the card players to cease; it was twelve o’clock. The gamblers were loth, but the master was peremptory.
CHAPTER XI.
THE LIFE OF LOW LIFE; OR THE GLORIOUS FINISH OF THE WEEK.
“Yes!” snivelled a street-preacher and psalm singer, who could scarcely hold up his head for strong drink; “we are now entering upon the Lord’s day.”
“Aye,” observed a spouting vagabond, “it is so, old Mawworm, and you had better go to bed. You know you have your part to perform to-morrow.”
“Yes!” he answered, adding a little snuff to his other stimulants, and muttered something about “God willing.”
And now it was that the roar of revelry began—noise, disorder, and discord, all joined chorus. The players were let loose, and were giving vent to their different feelings, as ill or bad luck had attended them.