bore up like a man, though I was robbing him. I slid in
between him and her after she had become the poor devil's very life.
Then, then--I have to admit that, too--he never would have got her into
this awful mess. He has too much sense for that--sense or honor, which?
Well, well, they say turn about is fair play, and old, patient Joel will
get his innings. He'll--he'll come home to her after his day's work.
He'll take her in his-- O my God!" John stood motionless. The old
primitive fires were kindling in his blood. Had the room been dark his
eyes might have gleamed like those of a tiger. He sat down on the bed.
He was quivering and his heart was pounding like a trip-hammer.
Presently he mastered himself and resumed his packing. "Don't be a fool,
John Trott," he said, sharply. "You are up against it. Be a man, if it
is in you."

Here the open closet caught his attention. One of Tilly's dresses hung
in view, and he took it into his hands reverently. A pair of worn shoes
lay on the floor. He picked up one of them. It was so small that he
could have hidden it in his pocket. He turned it over in his great hand.
His throbbing fingers caressed the soft leather. She would never need
it. Why not put it in with his things? He started to do so. He made
space for it in one corner of a valise, and then, all at once
exclaiming, "What t'ell!" he threw it back into the closet and continued
to swear at himself in low, vexed tones.

Dora was entering at the front. She seldom wore her shoes, and, as she
now had them on, she used her feet clumsily and made a great clatter in
the hall.

"'Sh! for God's sake!" he cried, angrily, and then he turned his
impatience off with an apologetic laugh. "Never mind, kid. Make all the
noise you want. It won't do any harm. Are you ready? Give me that doll."

She handed it to him roughly wrapped in a newspaper. "Don't mash her!"
she pleaded. "Her face is soft as putty in warm weather."

"There, there!" he laughed, "she will be all right. As snug as a bug in
a rug. Now, let's go."

CHAPTER XXXIII

He locked the front door after them, put the key into its old place
under the door-step, where Cavanaugh could find it, and then they passed
out at the gate and trudged toward the station. They had ample time, and
so he took the best way to avoid meeting any one who might comment on
their odd departure.

The station was finally reached. No one was there but a watchman with a
lantern in his hand,