He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Good and Evil. But eventually Spurlock laughed. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. " The doctor did not reply to this rather ambiguous statement, but pushed back his chair and signed to McClintock to follow.
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