"He'll not trouble you on the liquor side, Mac."
[Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. The Ragged Edge.
A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.]
"So much the better. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair. But luncheon and dinners you will sit at my table. I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins. How you dress when you're loafing will be no concern of mine; but fresh twill or Shantung, when you dine with me, collar and tie. If you like books and music, we'll get along."
"Then you are taking me on?" Spurlock's eyes grew soft like those of a dog that, expecting the whip, saw only the kindly hand.
"I am going to give you a try."
"When will you want me?"—with pitiful eagerness. "How shall I get to you?"
"My yacht is in the river. The doctor here says he can get you aboard to-morrow night. But understand me thoroughly: I am offering you this job because my friend wants to help you. I don't know anything about you. I am gambling on his intuition." McClintock preferred to put it thus.
"To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. Out of the beaten track, far from the trails of men! He relaxed.
The doctor reached over and laid his hand upon Spurlock's heart.
"Thumping; but that's only excitement. You'll do."
Then he looked at Ruth. Her face expressed nothing. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free.