Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me. There was a certain amount of disputation, and meanwhile she went on at school. I did not lay any traps for her. The room seemed a vacuum. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. “To Paris! But why? What do you hope to discover there?” “I do not know,” he answered, “but I am going to see David Courtlaw. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance.
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