9. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. Mr. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Brown strode to center stage and Lucy quieted the instruments with a gesture. Spurling: "I blush for you, Sir! To call yourself a man, and interfere with the natural course of affection! Have you no feeling for the situation of those poor disconsolate creatures, about to be bereaved of all they hold dear? Is it nothing to part with a husband to the gallows? I've lost four in the same way, and know what it is. ‘I’m following a scent.
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