tousled and bewildered as if she had that instant been roused from the deepest sleep, appeared with a card upon a tray. Challenger snorted ferociously as he looked at it, and his thick black hair seemed to bristle up in his wrath.
"A Pressman!" he growled. Then, with a deprecating smile: "After all, it is natural that the whole world should hasten to know what I think of such an episode."
"That can hardly be his errand," said Summerlee, "for he was on the road in his cab before ever the crisis came."
I looked at the card: "James Baxter, London Correspondent, New York Monitor.'
"You'll see him?" said I.
"Not I."
"Oh, George! You should be kinder and more considerate to others. Surely you have learned something from what we have undergone."
He tut-tutted and shook his big, obstinate head.
