"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. It slipped out—as did that “she”. One of the coolies held the paper lantern. Roof open —like a Noah’s Ark. “It seems—It’s interesting. I must provide for my safety. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. ‘Parbleu,’ she uttered indignantly. “Dear John,” she whispered. Let us search it. “John, we should be getting out of here. “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door.
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