The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. Ah Coom. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. "Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" was McClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over. " "With all his cunning, he may meet with his match," continued Kneebone, laughing. ‘It is not your affair.
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