" "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance of affection. Wild here presently, and I wouldn't for the world—Zounds!" he exclaimed, as the figure of the thief-taker appeared at the wicket, "here he is. I do swear.
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