He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. It would not be possible otherwise to live in daily contact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her. He's a model of conjugal attachment and fidelity, a pattern to his family, and an example to his neighbours. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack.
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