Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. "I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. "I should like to see whether Blueskin is a little more composed. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. " "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man.
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