"These writer chaps are queer birds. He gurgled as if trying to communicate. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. There stepped forth a tall brown man. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. From beginning to end it was first-hand stuff. ” “You what?” she repeated incredulously. Then a roar of hisses. Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. “And yet in a very few weeks I shall have done with it all.
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