” “Oh, well!” he said, a little doubtfully, “it’s just a phase,” and bent down and rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, with his heart beating and his nerves a-quiver. "I am, Charcoal. He dared not go on. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. ” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes.
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