The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. But remember my warning, and play the game!" Spurlock closed his eyes again. " "Too proud, eh?" rejoined the prize-fighter. " So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. \" She thought of her kill.
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