Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. ” “Why not?” “You see, if I do go home my father objects to the College, and as for typing —” “Don’t go home. " "Very well, sir. This was irregular.
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