Stanley lost patience. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. The leg and wing of a duck were disposed of by this gentleman in a twinkling; a brace of pigeons and a pound of steak followed with equal celerity; and he had just begun to make a fierce assault upon the eggs and ham.
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