" "Oh! he told you that, did he?" said Blueskin, marching up to her, and chucking her under the chin. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. It makes no difference. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. I thought one had only to take it by the throat. She was curious to know why he had boarded a dingy train instead of hailing a cab or his own private chauffeur like the others in expensive suits were doing.
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