ropped on the
ground, and allowed the vehicle to pass over them, which it did without
injuring them; but the boys who were clinging for dear life to the
trunk-rack behind fell over the prostrate steersman, and there we all
lay in a heap, two or three of us quite picturesque with the nose-bleed.

The coach, with an intuitive perception of what was expected of it,
plunged into the centre of the kindling shavings, and stopped. The
flames sprung up and clung to the rotten woodwork, which burned like
tinder. At this moment a figure was seen leaping wildly from the inside
of the blazing coach. The figure made three bounds towards us, and
tripped over Harry Blake. It was Pepper Whitcomb, with his hair somewhat
singed, and his eyebrows completely scorched off!

Pepper had slyly ensconced himself on the back seat before we started,
intending to have a neat little ride down hill, and a laugh at us
afterwards. But the laugh, as it happened, was on our side, or would
have been, if half a dozen watchmen had not suddenly pounced down upon
us, as we lay scrambling on the ground, weak with mirth over Pepper's
misfortune. We were collared and marched off before we well knew what
had happened.

The abrupt transition from the noise and light of the Square to the
silent, gloomy brick room in the rear of the Meat Market seemed like the
work of enchantment. We stared at each other, aghast.

"Well," remarked Jack Harris, with a sickly smile, "this is a go!"

"No go, I should say," whimpered Harry Blake, glancing at the bare brick
walls and the heavy ironplated door.

"Never say die," muttered Phil Adams, dolefully.

The bridewell was a small low-studded chamber built up against the
rear end of the Meat Market, and approached from the Square by a narrow
passage-way. A portion of the rooms partitioned off into eight cells,
numbered, each capable of holding two persons. The cells were full at
the time, as we presently discovered by seeing several hideous faces
leering out at us through the gratings of the doors.

A smoky oil-lamp in a lantern suspended from the ceiling threw a
flickering light over the apartment, which contained no furniture
excepting a couple of stout wooden benches. It was a dismal place by
night, and only little less dismal by day, tall houses surrounding "the
lock-up" prevented the faintest ray of sunshine from penetrating the
ventilator over the door--long narrow window opening inward and propped
up by a piece of l