\"Oh my word, Mike. Jack Kimble. Only I just want him. The danger you put yourself in by remaining here astounds me. " "How?" exclaimed the other. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. If all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes.
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