She decided to leave this matter until the morrow and devote the morning to settling up with Mr. "Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. “I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not at all sympathique. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. That's how I finally got wind of it. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. ‘Poor Hilary. The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. " She sent a covert glance toward the young man. "Leave us, Mrs.
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