Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. ” He cried traitorously. “I should think YOU could do all sorts of things. Give me the keys and the light. ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. —There, Mr. ‘Eh bien. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence.
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