“I am afraid that you are making a mistake. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. " "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience.
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