Hollo rumbled in his throat. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. "Mercy!" screamed Mrs. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. " "What motive can you have for so vile a deed?" asked Mrs. " "Not quite," replied the manager. Your boyfriend. I have squeezed three kids into it afore now. Oh, Jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. ” She acted calm, but could not help being offended. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am.
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