“Poor old daddy! I wonder if he’ll spend much on the fatted calf?. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. Humph!" "What's the matter?" "Sh!" Spurlock passed by on the way to the bar. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. “Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. CHAPTER XI.
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