Tom, as if to contemplate his degradation, turns inquiringly, to see
from whence comes the voice. "It is me!" again the voice resounds.
Two glaring eyes, staring anxiously through the small iron grating
of a door leading to a close cell on the left of the corridor,
betrays the speaker. "It's Tom Swiggs. I know him--he's got the
hydrophobia; its common with him! Take him in tow, old Spunyarn,
give him a good berth, and let him mellow at thirty cents a day,"
continues the voice.

The last sentence the speaker addressed to a man of comely figure
and frank countenance, who has just made his appearance, dressed in
the garb of a sailor. This man stoops over Tom, seems to recognize
in him an old acquaintance, for his face warms with kindliness, and
he straightway commences wiping the sun-scorched face of the
inebriate with his handkerchief, and with his hand smooths and
parts, with an air of tenderness, his hair; and when he has done
this, he spreads the handkerchief over the wretched man's face,
touches the querulous vote-cribber on the arm, and with a
significant wink beckons him away, saying, "Come away, now, he has
luffed into the wind. A sleep will do him good."






CHAPTER II.

MADAME FLAMINGO-HER DISTINGUISHED PATRONS, AND HER VERY RESPECTABLE
HOUSE.