He was—a millionaire. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. We all did that in our youth, when first we came upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. He never finished his sentence. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws.
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