’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. Although she had said a great deal when she heard about the shooting that had left poor Jack so badly injured. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. Does it?” “I think it does. Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr. You’re dogmatic. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable.
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