"How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. . " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. I saw the motor dashed to pieces against the wall, and I saw him pitched on his head into the road. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. I think we will soon, though. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging.
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