Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites. "Aha!" exclaimed Jackson. Give me that precious charge," he added, snatching the bundle from Wood. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. Wood, "because he found him in the river!—ha! ha!" "Ha! ha!" echoed Smith, taking another bumper of brandy; "he'll set the Thames on fire one of these days, I'll warrant him!" "That's more than you'll ever do, you drunken fool!" growled Jackson, in an under tone: "be cautious, or you'll spoil all!" "Suppose we send for a bowl of punch," said Kneebone. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers.
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