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From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Perhaps what I need is something to bite in. You know I call that positively wicked. "You're not hurt I hope, Sir Rowland?" inquired this individual. "What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly. “Come with me. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. An astonished Jack Kimble was revealed in the aperture.
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