A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. “To the best of my belief, I have never seen the man in my life. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. Mr. Shot him, do you hear?” “Good God!” he exclaimed, looking at her curiously. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail.
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