CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. "I should be perfectly miserable if I thought you in earnest. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. It was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that Mrs.
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