It was the window on the side of the street, and it was closed. While Sellick, laughing with the rest, was stepping quickly to help him open it, Jack, beginning to choke, and appearing quite unable to control himself longer, started for the door. The mirthful constable—who had never yet lost a prisoner and never expected to lose one—turned to follow him, rather leisurely, pausing to laugh at Mr. Byron Dinks, who had received some conspicuous splashes of milk on his black broadcloth.