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Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. But whither The Tigress was bound or who the owner was lay beyond the reach of Ah Cum's deductions. " "What for?" demanded the turnkey. mm. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. "He will live," answered Ruth. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation.
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