’ ‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. The grim mockery of it!—those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede's Christianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money and medicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the name a byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars.
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