"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. But what else he saw fit to teach her I do not care to stipulate. The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. You will be—my wife. “By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. ” “You fellows,” Ennison said quietly, “are getting a little wild. ‘Alcide’ or no ‘Alcide,’ there is not a music hall manager in London or Paris who would not give you an engagement on your own merits. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals.
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