“It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. A modest drinking bout which had its windup in a fan-tan house over in Kowloon, where O'Higgins tussled with varying fortune until five in the morning. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. "I might return the question.
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