I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. I thought that you were he. I did not know you spoke Kanaka," he broke off. For freedom at least. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. Thank you for the books.
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