Under the Big Dipper

the tap-room.

It was with many misgivings that Morton looked about the cell that was to serve as his residence for the next few days. The prospect was by no means a pleasing one. The walls of a dirty white, roughly plastered, showed many cracks and nail-holes, and numerous blotches of soot or smoke where previous visitors had evidently sent up burnt offerings on the altar of a night’s peace from vermin. The bed, piled high with pillows and quilts, assured warmth, but not cleanliness; a rickety washstand with rough bowl and pitcher, both chipped and cracked, two rickety chairs, a small table, and a number of wooden pegs driven into the wall, completed the furnishing. This was the first real shock to John’s fortitude. He had realized that he might have to encounter dangers, but he never thought that he might be nauseated. In his camp in the desert, vermin and insects were a part of the natural order of things, so

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