He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Even if he were an old friend, you couldn't afford to do it. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. "Don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke. Terrific shouts were raised by the rabble, who threatened to tear Wild in pieces if he showed himself.
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