Who could say that the two weren't in collusion?
When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, _cherchez la femme_, every time.
He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York....
"Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine.

"My old coco is disintegrating.

I've bumped into so much of the underside that I can't see clean any more.

No girl with a face like that....

And yet, dang it! I've seen 'em just as innocent looking that were prime vipers.