"Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Then the hotel manager struck his palms together sharply, and two Chinese "boys" came pattering in from the dining room. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. "Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" roared Blueskin.
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