" "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. ” “I am going to pack my bag,” Anna answered. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. " "At least state your charge. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be.
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