Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. "And his lordship, furthermore, requests me to state," proceeded Sharples, in a hoarse tone, "that he'll be responsible for the doctors' bill of all such gem'men as have received broken pates, or been otherwise damaged in the fray—ough! ough!" "Hurrah!" shouted the mob. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. Then pain entered their depths.
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