works. " ***** "To me, you dirty blackguard!" cried Spurlock, flinging aside his helmet. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. The idea of your being a failure would never have occurred to me. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony.
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