"I don't like to ask the question too directly, wenerable," said Ginger, in a deprecatory tone—"but is your master—hem!—is he—hem!—the—the——"
"The devil, you would say," supplied Old Parr. "Between ourselves, I'm afraid there's no denying it."
"La! wot a horrible idea!" exclaimed Ginger, with a shudder; "it makes the flesh creep on one's bones. Then we're in your master's power?"
"Very like it," replied Old Parr.
"And there ain't no chance o' deliverance?"
"None that occurs to me."
"O Lord! O Lord!" groaned Ginger; "I'll repent. I'll become a reformed character. I'll never steal dogs no more."
"In that case, there may be some chance for you," said Old Parr. "I think I could help you to escape. Come with me, and I'll try and get you out."
"But wot is to become of the others?" demanded Ginger.
"Oh, leave them to their fate," replied Old Parr.