“Hang your grandmother!” returned Adams, impatiently.  “What I’m afraid of is that they’ll keep us locked up until the Fourth is over.”

“You ain’t smart ef they do!” cried a voice from one of the cells.  It was a deep bass voice that sent a chill through me.

“Who are you?” said Jack Harris, addressing the cells in general; for the echoing qualities of the room made it difficult to locate the voice.

“That don’t matter,” replied the speaker, putting his face close up to the gratings of No. 3, “but ef I was a youngster like you, free an’ easy outside there, this spot wouldn’t hold me long.”

“That’s so!” chimed several of the prison-birds, wagging their heads behind the iron lattices.

“Hush!” whispered Jack Harris, rising from his seat and walking on tip-toe to the door of cell No. 3.  “What would you do?”

“Do?  Why, I’d pile them ’ere benches up agin that ‘ere door, an’ crawl out of that ’erc winder in no time.  That’s my adwice.”

“And werry good adwice it is, Jim,” said the occupant of No. 5, approvingly.

Jack Harris seemed to be of the same opinion, for he hastily placed the benches one on the top of another under the ventilator, and, climbing up on the highest bench, peeped out into the passage-way.

“If any gent happens to have a ninepence about him,” said the man in cell No. 3, “there’s a sufferin’ family here as could make use of it.  Smallest favors gratefully received, an’ no questions axed.”

This appeal touched a new silver quarter of a dollar in my trousers-pocket; I fished out the coin from a mass of fireworks, and gave it to the prisoner.  He appeared to be so good-natured a fellow that I ventured to ask what he had done to get into jail.

“Intirely innocent.  I was clapped in here by a rascally nevew as wishes to enjoy my wealth afore I’m dead.’

“Your name, Sir?’ I inquired, with a view of reporting the outrage to my grandfather and having the injured person re instated in society.

“Git out, you insolent young reptyle!” shouted the man, in a passion.

I retreated precipitately, amid a roar of laughter from the other cells.

“Can’t you keep still?” exclaimed Harris, withdrawing his head from the window.

A portly watchman usually sat on a stool outside the door day and night; but on this particular occasion, his services being required elsewhere, the bridewell had been left to guard itself.

“All clear,” whispered Jack Harris, as he vanished through the aperture and dropped softly on the ground outside.  We all followed him expeditiously—­Pepper Whitcomb and myself getting stuck in the window for a moment in our frantic efforts not to be last.

“Now, boys, everybody for himself!”

Chapter Eight—­The Adventures of a Fourth

The sun cast a broad column of quivering gold across the river at the foot of our street, just as I reached the doorstep of the Nutter House.  Kitty Collins, with her dress tucked about her so that she looked as if she had on a pair of calico trousers, was washing off the sidewalk.