amazing riddle? Supposing her
father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely
to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind?

"Didn't you despise the men your father brought home--the
beachcombers?"

"No. In the beginning was afraid; but after the first several
cases, I had only pity. I somehow understood."

"Didn't some of them ... try to touch you?"

"Not the true unfortunates. How men suffer for the foolish things
they do!"

"Ay to that. There's our young friend upstairs."

"There's a funny idea in my head. I've been thinking about it ever
since morning. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want to
sew it on. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes."

"Ah, yes; that coat. Probably a sick man's whim. Certainly, there
wasn't a thing in the pockets. But be very careful not to let him
know. If he awoke and caught you at it, there might be a set-back.
By the way, what did he say when he was out of his head?"

"The word 'Fool.' He muttered it continually. There was another
phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. I
wonder what he meant by that?"

"The Lord knows!"

The patient was restless during the first watch of the night. He
stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms
above his head. Gently each time Ruth drew down the arms. There was
a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. Once she heard him
mutter, and she leaned down.

"Ali Baba, in a blue-serge coat!... God-forsaken fool!"

CHAPTER XIII

One day Ruth caught the patient's eyes following her about; but
there was no question in the gaze, no interest; so she pretended
not to notice.

"Where am I?" asked Spurlock.

"In Canton."

"How long have I been in bed?"

"A week."

"My coat, please."

"It is folded under your pillow."

"Did I ask for it?"

"Yes. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets.
You were probably robbed in Hong-Kong."

"Nothing in the pockets."

"You see, we didn't know but you might die; and so we had to search
your belongings for the address of your people."

"I have no people--anybody who would care."

She kindled with sympathy. He was all alone, too. Nobody who cared.

Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in
pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering
impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. She was
emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declini