Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. ‘Exactly like my father. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Try something.
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