” “Sir John is an ass!” he declared. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. ‘I have a very good mind to do so, imbecile. With Jack so badly injured, how would she get him home? How get herself home, now that Trodger had arrested her. Catch him, she begged silently. I must go and dress at once. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. Words of encouragement and sympathy were addressed to Jack, who, as he looked around, beheld many a friendly glance fixed upon him. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes.
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