It ought not to be much. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. At once divining the meaning of this ingenious device, he applied his mouth to the tube, and sucked away, while the person outside poured spirit into the bowl. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face.
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