Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. "I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about.
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