"His right hand was bare," answered the Whistler, "'cause his fingernail scratched me when he thrun me—when he threw me down."
Shagarach drew forth the glove which Chandler had brought him and was studying it profoundly. Apparently he forgot the presence of the boys, so deep was his meditation. Then at last he started out of the reverie, thanked them again and with kind assurances of friendship shook their hands in parting at the door.
"Ain't he a dandy bloke?" whispered Turkey on the stairs.
"Why didn't yer take it, Whistler?" said Toot.
But the Whistler held his peace.
CHAPTER XXIV.
DEATHBED REVELATIONS.
When Emily Barlow ran down to Shagarach's office at noon this Saturday she was accompanied by her friend, Beulah Ware. Beulah Ware was as dark as Emily was fair. In temperament, as in complexion, the two girls offered a contrast, Beulah's carriage having the recollected dignity of a nun's, while Emily's sensibilities were all as fine as those Japanese swords which are whetted so keenly they divide the light leaves that fall across their edges.
"We should like to leave a note with the flowers, Mr. Aronson. Could you furnish us paper?"