’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. “Get me some brandy and my bag. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. "Jump!" cried Ben, in a voice of thunder. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. Ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as shouts and other vociferations resounded at no great distance along the thoroughfare, "not a moment is to be lost.
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