“I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. ” Mr. Finger to his lips, Gerald pointed in the direction of the noise. "Do you mean to tell me he's come and gone in an hour? What the devil kind of a father is he?" Spurlock shook his head. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. Fast asleep, he is. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master.
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