His treatment of his wife is most unsatisfactory. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. “Cheer up, Annabel. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. The summons was instantly answered by a shop-boy. " "Thank'ee,—thank'ee. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. I am loved. Our heads swim with the thought of being together. There is the election——” He laughed derisively.
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