Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. Upon this island whither he was bound there would be no diversions, breathing spells; the battle would be constant. “I cannot keep silence any longer. "Have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these troublesome warmint?" observed Abraham. Ruth could not very well object, since an air of distinction would go with Taber. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment.
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