ng defiance, and, by Jove, looking
all the while like some Greek god in cowboy outfit, if your
imagination can get that. I am telling you the whole sickening story,
because I must treat you with perfect sincerity. I assure you next
morning I was sick enough of myself and my useless life, sick enough
to have done with the unhappy and disgraceful farce of living,
but for your sake and for the boy's too, I couldn't play the cad,
and so I continue to live.

"But I have come to the opinion that he ought not to stay with me.
As I said before, he is a splendid chap in many ways, but I am
afraid in these surroundings he will go bad. He is clean as yet,
I firmly believe, thank God, but with this Colony near us with
their low standard of morality, and to be quite sincere, in the
care of such a man as I am, the boy stands a poor chance. I know
this will grieve you, but it is best to be honest. I think he ought
to go to you. I must refuse responsibility for his remaining here.
I feel like a beast in saying this, but whatever shred of honour
is left me forces me to say it."

In the postscript there was a word that brought not a little hope and
comfort. "One thing in addition. No more Galician festivals for me."
It was a miserably cruel letter, and it did its miserably cruel work
on the heart of the little white-faced lady. She laid the letter down,
drew from a box upon her table a photo, and laid it before her.
It was of two young men in football garb, in all the glorious pride
of their young manhood. Long she gazed upon it till she could see
no more, and then went to pray.

It took Irma some days of thought and effort to prepare the answer
to her letter, for to her, as to Kalman, English had become easier
than her native Russian. To Jack French a reply went by return
mail. It was not long, but, as Jack French read, the easy smile
vanished, and for days he carried in his face the signs of the
remorse and grief that gnawed at his heart. Then he rode alone
to Wakota to take counsel with his friend Brown.

As he read, one phrase kept repeating itself in his mind: "The
responsibility of leaving Kalman with you, I must take. What else
can I do? I have no other to help me. But the responsibility for
what you make him, you must take. God puts it on you, not I."

"The responsibility for making him is not mine," he said to himself
impatiently. "I can teach him a lot of things, but I can't teach
him morals. That is Brown's business.