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It was evening, and the streets of Benton's shopping section were lighted; the illumination of windows serving to display the attractions arranged therein to best advantage. The night was warm and pleasant, and the passers-by moved leisurely, enjoying the sights, or pausing now and then to gaze in, as some object caught their eye.
I was determined to see him this time, and I, therefore, went directly to Colonel Benton's house, and, taking a sealed envelope in my hand, marched right up the front steps, passed all the guards as though I belonged there, and went into his room and reported myself present.
There you, Señor, will leave the yacht, and I will go with it to Monte Carlo. I wish to be as soon as possible in the casino where the drone of the croupier and the clink of outflowing louis d'or constitute the national refrain." Benton's eyes narrowed in perplexity. On his face was written curiosity, but he had agreed to ask no questions. He unhesitatingly put his finger on the electric bell.
If it wasn't for leaving Flo alone I'd foot it every step of the way to the quarry this blessed night; that's what I'd do." "Come, come, Mrs. Tobin, there is nothing to worry about," Mrs. Hampton comforted. "Surely you can trust your husband. Don't get so excited. Think of those poor people who lost their only daughter last night; drowned herself at Benton's wharf.
"I used to be captain in the merchant marine, but am now executive officer of Captain Benton's vessel, and am simply Mr. Watkins." "Mr. Watkins," interposed Mrs. Gray, "my son has saved all the money that came to him through the sale of the Hollins, and longed for and dreamed of the day when he could restore it to its lawful owner.
On the opposite side of the smoky kitchen stood the grim figure of a nigger wench, as big as the north side of a Dutch lighthouse, and as saucy as Benton's goat. The way she was making the wool fly over a sas-pan as big as old Zack Coffin's ile kettle was a caution to nervous folks. 'What on earth have ye got in that, eh? I inquires, peeping over the side into the half-scalding foam.
No one answered the low moans of the man who, stabbed and robbed, had crawled so far and could crawl no farther. But the dawn would not stay back in order to hide Benton's hideousness. The gray lifted out of the streets, the shadows lightened, the east kindled, and the sweet, soft freshness of a desert dawn came in on the gentle breeze.
It was Benton's last night, and there was something in the air, menacing, terrible. Neale gave himself up to the spirit of the hour and the game. He had almost forgotten himself when a white, jeweled hand flashed over his shoulder, to touch it softly. He heard his name whispered. Looking up, he saw the flushed and singularly radiant face of Beauty Stanton.
These, and many more, not only came, but did such justice to Mrs. Benton's and Wan Lung's cookery that, as she said, next morning: "Land suz! There ain't scraps enough left to make a decent soup, even! But never mind, we had a royal time, every single soul of us. Christmas is over, and I'm glad it's so well over. Now, we can settle down and rest a spell."
"He's goin' to the bad," he went on, with his big hand indicating the door. "Benton's too hot fer his kind. He'll not git up some fine mornin'.... An' you'd better cotton to me. You ain't his kin an' he hates you an' you hate him. I seen thet. I'm no fool. I'm sorta gone on you. I wish I hadn't fetched you back to him." "Fresno, I'll tell Durade," replied Allie, forcing her lips to be firm.
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