One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. . The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. " "Off!" she exclaimed, breaking from his embrace with a scream. Meantime, O'Higgins wended his way to the Victoria, mulling over this and that phase, all matters little and big that bore upon the chase. “You told me that in the Zoological Gardens.
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