"Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. ’ The listening soldiers began to snigger behind their hands. ’ Reminiscence made him smile. A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. This time you cannot. ’ Triumph leapt in Gerald’s chest. "I am glad you think that," she replied.
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