CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. "I'm not going to get rid of you just yet. The boy was coming around. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. "Don't exchange glances with him under my very nose, woman!" shrieked Mrs. ” “Then perhaps,” she answered, with a new coldness in her tone, “perhaps I really do not care. . On the present occasion, he appeared to have bestowed more than ordinary attention on his toilette. " "What shall I do?" cried Mrs. Grudgingly he admired her. F.
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