Besides, Gerald would not for the world have passed up the chance of a little excitement. “It was only yesterday I had your letter, and you never mentioned coming over. 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. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, pervert?” “Yes sir. He was made welcome as McClintock's agent; but he politely declined all the proffered courtesies.
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