Open the window, Thames, and call for assistance. ’ ‘Ain’t you in a rage?’ asked the captain. ’ ‘Yes, but I need a word with Gerald,’ protested the captain, hanging back. ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. “It was,” she admitted. The times were such that, with the opinions he entertained, he could not remain idle. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. Spurling. Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. CHAPTER XXVI.
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