The last piece was Scheherazade. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. But no more of that. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. It may be useful to you.
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