” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. "Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight.
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