Earles asked sharply. I hated the stuff. I am a thing to be used. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. Capes made a quick movement as if to bite that aggressive digit, but it withdrew to Ann Veronica’s side. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. .
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