" As he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers. “My sister is sure to be out. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. "To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye.
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