The Ragged Edge. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. If you attempt to play the traitor, you will do so at the hazard of your life. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. "After him," cried Wild; "he mustn't escape. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical.
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