Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. So he marched into the street, primarily bent upon making the favourable discovery. Here was one of those Americans who would make him breathless before sundown.
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