Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. 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. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. "I understand," she said. ” “But how did they prove it?” “By science,” said Miss Miniver, and hurried on, putting out a rhetorical hand that showed a slash of finger through its glove. Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room.
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