The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. ***** The general office was an extension of the west wing of the McClintock bungalow. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. "He acts queerly, too. 6. Spurlock. I tell you, if you do not help me this instant, you will find that your major he will very likely shoot you.
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