The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. "The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner.
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