“This ain’t no place for you. " Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. ‘I broke in. I must obey. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. " "For shame, Mr. An Englishwoman. . ’ She struggled.
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