Her eyes flamed.
“Will you—O, will you, my dear Mr. Hitchings, do a moving picture for me?”
“I most certainly will,” replied Mr. Hitchings, “immediately—of a man packing his grip.”
“But I beg of you, who is he? For God’s sake, listen to a woman’s plea! Solve this mystery of me lord’s true identity!”
By this time, however, Mr. Hitchings had engaged the drawing room of a camel and was navigating the Sahara by means of the good, old, honorable North Star.
[CHAPTER XI]
Mr. Hitchings was in such a hurry hurtling off the Sahara with a broken climax that he left some things behind.
There were two collar buttons, a large piece of dignity and a newspaper clipping.