Won't you, Jack?" "That I will," answered Sheppard, eagerly. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Blueskin, however, was not unattended. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. "You are my prisoner. She heard the television blaring away.
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