"It's the way
she's made; it's her high-toned loyalty. And of course
I know it's all right. I know your sterling character;
but you didn't, somehow, make out to give us the thing
straight, Loudon. Anybody might have--I mean it--I
mean----"
"Never mind what you mean, my poor Jim," said I.
"She's a gallant little woman and a loyal wife: and I
thought her splendid. My story was as fishy as the
devil. I'll never think the less of either her or
you."
"It'll blow over; it must blow over," said he.
"It never can," I returned, sighing: "and don't you try
to make it! Don't name me, unless it's with an oath.
And get home to her right away. Good-bye, my best of
friends. Good-bye, and God bless you. We shall never
meet again."
"O Loudon, that we should live to say such words!" he
cried.
I had no views on life, beyond an occasional impulse to
commit suicide, or to get drunk, and drifted down the
street, semi-conscious, walking apparently on air in
the light-headedness of grief. I had money in my
pocket, whether mine or my creditors' I had no means of
guessing; and, the Poodle Dog lying in my path, I went
mechanically in and took a table.
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