"But empty hands are evil things wherewith to face a well-armed spook."
"The well-armed spook" is a joy for ever.
"A great black man fleeted past the rocks." "Hum!" quoth the Baron, "fleeted" is a new word to me. Not that I object to its invention and use on that account; in sound and appearance it expresses no more than "sped," or, if pursuit is to be implied, "fled."
Here is something that this novelist having written may well lay to heart,
"The man was as white-skinned as themselves, and judging from the purity of his English, must have been at one time a British subject."
"Now," quoth the Baron, meditatively, "if purity of English, with or without a white skin, is the unmistakable mark of a 'British subject,' then it follows that Mr. Lawrence Fletcher is of some nationality other than British. At least, such is the logical conclusion arrived at by his humble but critical servant,
"The Baron de B. W. 'B. B.' (British Born.)"
A New Turn.—He was an eloquent, an earnest lover, but she saw through him. When he had sworn to be true, which oath of his she didn't trust for a minute, and had implored her to do likewise, she only murmured to herself, "Had I a heart for falsehood framed——" Whereupon he vowed that such a thing was impossible; but, supposing her to possess such a heart, what would she do with it, considering it as a frame? Then she replied, softly, "I should put your portrait in it."