At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. I wonder what it was. Let alone a girl. “No, you weren’t bad in the slightest. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. "May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. I am not going to be a chorus girl, or even a super.
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