It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. " Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. By a sort of instinct. His foot touched the rounded edge of the starling, and glanced off, precipitating him into the water. It is not for myself I fear. Make up your mind as to the terms, and I'll engage to find the man.
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