Rudolph saw again the lighted shop, the tumbled figure retching on the floor; and with these came a memory of that cold and scornful face, thinking so cruelly among the unthinking rabble.

The Sword-Pen had written something in the dark.
"I go find out"; and Wutzler was away, as keen as a village gossip.
"Trouble's comin'," Nesbit asserted glibly.

"There's politics afloat.
But I don't care." He stretched his arms, with a weary howl.

"That's the first yawn I've done to-night.

Trouble keeps, worse luck.