he shadows of wrath and
disgust were chasing each other over my friend's intelligent
countenance. You see, I get so browbeaten at home that I must avenge
myself on somebody now and then; and of course, it has to be a man. And
then it is all for Jim's good, and he deserves all he is getting. So I
went on.

"But seeing this is so, Jim, you ought to be content; and what means all
your wild talk of last night and this morning, as if you had something
on your conscience? You haven't--you wouldn't--No, you're not that kind
of a man. Well then, what in thunder have you been making all this fuss
about, and pitching into me for?"

He suppressed something with a gulp: I think it was not an expression of
gratitude or affection. "Confound you, Bob; one never knows how to take
you. In the name of Satan and all the devils, what are you after now?"

"I'm not after anything in the name of the gentlemen you mention; they
are no friends of mine, nor objects of my regard. Put a better name on
it, and I'm after getting you to say what you mean, as we agreed--though
it seems to be hard work. Who's playing tricks upon travellers, and
misleading a confiding friend now? I never knew such a man for beating
about the bush, and talking nonsense." (I remembered this apothegm of
Jane's, which sounded well, and fitted in nicely just here.)

He appeared to take himself to pieces, shake them well, and put them
together carefully, before he spoke. "Perhaps my language was obscure,
or even enigmatical; but I thought you might understand. Forgive me if I
have been harsh, Bob, not to say uncivil: I have gone through a good
deal, until I hardly know myself. It is base enough for a man to be thus
at the mercy of mere externals--and I used to think I could practice the
Stoic doctrine! But to be human is to be a pitiable, and, if you like, a
despicable creature. I knew a case that may serve in a way to
explain--not to justify--my treatment of you. Say it was years ago; the
man met, in a friend's house, a lady who showed him the utmost kindness.
She was used to all deference, till she and every one regarded it as her
right--as it was. And he--it's not pleasant to tell--he ended by
insulting her. I always understood how that fellow never could bear to
mention her name, nor to hear it; how any reminder of her, or contact
with the friends through whom he met her, would upset him. He would get
confused, and some of his self-reproaches would fall on the wrong he