The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected. For all you might know, I might have someone watching you. Very central in Miss Miniver’s universe were the Goopes. Into one of these the waterman jumped, and, having assisted Mr. Wasting no time, he crossed straight to the shutters and opened them.
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