t woman came near to saving me--from myself," Charlie went on,
with a tenderness he was unaware of. "And it was through that very
weakness of self-indulgence. I love her that bad it's bigger than
anything else in my life. Say, I'd rather have her good opinion,
and--and liking--than anything in life. It's more to me than any of
those desires that have always claimed me. But there are times when
even her influence isn't quite big enough. There are times when even
she can't hold me up. There are things back of my head I can't
beat--even through her--at times. That's why I say she's come near
saving me. Not quite--but near.

"Bill, guess you can't understand. Guess no one can. I fight, fight,
fight. She fights, too. She fights without knowing it, too, because
always in my mind is a picture of her handsome face, and eyes of
disapproval. That picture wins most times--but not always. Wait till
you see Kate, Bill, then you'll understand. I just love her to
death--and that's all there is to it. She only likes me. She'll never
feel for me same as I do for her. How can she?--I'm--but I guess you
know what I am. Everybody who knows me knows that I'm a hopeless
drunkard."

The man's final admission came without any self-pity or bitterness. It
is doubtful if there was any shame in him at the acknowledgment. Bill
marveled. He could not understand. He tried to picture himself making
such an admission, and to estimate his feelings at it. Shame,
unutterable shame, was all he could think of, and his good-natured
face flushed with shame for his brother, who had somehow so squandered
all his better feelings.

Charlie saw the flush, and the tenderness died out of his eyes. He
shook his head.

"Don't feel that way about it," he cried bitterly. "I'm not worth it.
Besides, I can't stand it from--you. Only--from Kate. I know what
you're thinking. You're bound to think that way. You were born with a
man's body--a big, strong man's body. I was born weak and puny. I was
born all wrong. I don't say it in excuse. I merely state a fact. Look
at me beside you, both children of the same parents. I'm like a woman,
I can't even grow the hair of a man on my face. My mother reveled in
what she regarded as the artistic beauty of my features, my hands"--he
held out his thin hands with their long tapering fingers--"and my love
for all those softer things of life that should only be found in
female nature. She gloried in those things and fostered them. She