He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit. "Yes, your son, Madam. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. For each costume she had devised a suitable form of matrimonial refusal. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. It was the grand nursery of vice. His face fell. And then you go—and half throttle me. Observe it—a blue-serge coat.
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