But Jenkins only shook his head as he gathered up the remains of the spider and consigned them to a cuspidor.
"You mean—say, what the devil do you mean?" I asked sharply.
Jenkins straightened with air respectful but solemn.
"Mr. Lightnut, sir," he began gravely, "there's a party lectures on the street corner every night at nine on the fearful consequences of the drink habit, and passes around blank pledges to be signed. I'm going to get one first chance; and if you will accept it, sir—meaning no offense—I would be proud to get you one, too."
I stared at him aghast.
"Oh, I say, now," I murmured faintly, "you don't think it was that, do you?"
Jenkins' face was eloquent enough.
"I'm through, sir," he said sadly. "When it comes to seeing things like that—" He lifted his eyes. "No more for me, sir; my belief is, it's a warning—yes, sir, that's what, a warning."
I collapsed into a chair.
"By Jove!" I gasped uneasily.