Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. Her aunt went off at a tangent. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him.
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