Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. ‘I don’t know that I dare. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals.
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