" "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. “When are you going away?” He asked. "I lost a very valuable one some time ago. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success. ” She said, and ducked back into her room. ’ ‘Then they are soldiers.
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