CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. There's not his peer among the peerage. “Of course I will,” he answered. For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. He returned, blue towel in hand. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. She was gone. Gerald pressed against the wall, and signalled Roding to go to the other side of the door. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York.
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