Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. "Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert. Aroused by the sound of the church bells, he resolved, at whatever risk, to attend Divine service. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals.
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