His coat was loose, and under it there was no waistcoat, neither did white collar confine his neck.
A quick glance took in the scene before him.

A little dark man was contending with a superb female of the most regally imperious beauty that he had ever seen or dreamed.

Tom Osby stepped a swift pace into the room.

There had come to his ear the note of a rich, deep voice that brought an instant conviction.

This--this was the Voice that he had worshipped! This was that divine being whom he had heard and seen in so many sweet imaginings in the hot days and sweet, silent nights afar in the desert lands.