“Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. Yet I shall think of you to-day. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict.
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