“David Courtlaw!” she repeated. ’ She giggled suddenly. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. “I am going to fetch some things that will be wanted if he pulls through the next hour. The garçon was tipped as he had never been tipped before in his life. Only I’m so incensed with that crazy fool Gerald that—oh, well, never mind. She was consumed by misery and hate. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. “I am bored,” she said abruptly.
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