" "If he had only been my father!—McClintock!" "God didn't standardize human beings, Ruth; no grain of wheat is like another. ‘Wait a minute, though. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Killed is too kind a word. What he there noticed occasioned a marked change in his demeanour. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night.
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