"Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. Not much to his surprise, Jack Kimble shook his head. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed.
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