" "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. Woof! What a dog. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. "I guessed from your dress and manner, Sir, that you must have been long absent from your own country," said Kneebone; "and now I'm convinced of it, or you wouldn't have asked that question. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. Mr. Your father…. You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days. Now I’ll tell you what I propose. Never was heard such a bawling as these unfortunate wights kept up. A wrathful God was watching him. CHAPTER XXI.
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