" "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. And now you know. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. After he had eaten dinner with Ruth, he had gone to McClintock's; and he had heard music such as he had heard only in the great concert halls.
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