The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. "Why didn't you come out when I called you, you young dog?" cried Quilt in a savage tone. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him.
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