gan to speak
in a quiet, repressed way upon the theme that he had suggested.

"A man," she said; "what is a man? I can answer better by telling you
what a man is not. A man is not a creature who loafs when he ought to be
at work, who loses money that he hasn't got, who drinks liquor that he
cannot carry, and who upon such a noble groundwork feels justified in
making love to a decent, self-respecting girl. That is not a _man_,
David. A man would have no need of any help from me.... But you--you are
a child that has escaped from its nurse, a bird that has fallen out of
its nest before it has learned to fly, and you have done nothing but
foolish things.... But somehow I have learned to suspect you of a better
self, where, half-strangled with foolishnesses and extravagance, there
lurks a certain contrition and a certain sweetness.... God knows I
should like to see you a man...."

Larkin jumped to his feet, and all of him that showed was crimson, and
he could have cried. But he felt no anger, and he kept his eyes upon
hers.

"Thank you," he said; "may I have them?"

He stuffed the bills into his pocket.

"I have no security," he said. "But I will give you my word of honor
neither to drink, neither to gamble, neither to loaf, nor to make love
until I have paid you back interest and principal."

"Where will you go? What will you do, David?"

"West--God knows. I _will_ do something.... You see that I can't say any
thanks, don't you? That I am almost choking, and that at any moment I
might burst into sobs?"

They were silent, and she looked into his face unconsciously while he
mastered his agitation. He sat down beside her presently, his elbows on
his knees, his chin deep in his hands.

"Is God blessing you by any chance?" he said. "Do you feel anything of
the kind? Because I am asking Him to--so very hard. I shall ask Him to a
million times every day until I die.... Would it be possible for one who
has deserved nothing, but who would like it for the strengthingest,
beautifulest memory...."

"Quick, then," said she, "some one's coming."

That very night screams pierced to every corner of the Tennants' great
house on the Whiskey Road. Those whom screams affect in one way sprang
from bed; those whom they affect in another hid under the bedclothes.
Mr. Tennant himself, a man of sharp temper and implacable courage,
dashed from his room in a suit of blue-and-white pajamas, and overturned
a Chippendale cabinet worth a th