On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. The Yale spirit! James Boyle O'Higgins was, as the saying goes, somewhat out of luck. My garden-close would be a better thing than that.
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