It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. But these fears, like those he had recently experienced, speedily vanished, and he prepared to return to the roof, congratulating himself that owing to the opportune falling of the bricks, he had in all probability escaped serious injury. He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. " CHAPTER XV. “But your sister?” he asked. .
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