ounded
dream."

Jack stopped, and again relapsed into moody silence.

"I'll tell you what it is, old fellow," said he, after a pause. "It's
devilish hard to put up with."

"What is?" I asked.

"This 'not-at-home' style of thing. Never mind--I'll pay her up!"

Now here was a specimen of rattle-brainishness--of levity--and of
childishness; so desperate, that I began to doubt whether this absurd
Jack ought to be regarded as a responsible being. It seemed simply
impossible for him to concentrate his impulsive mind on any thing. He
flings himself one day furiously into an elopement scheme--the next
day, at a slight, he forgets all about the elopement, and, in a
towering rage against Miss Phillips, devotes himself desperately to
Louie. And now when the elopement scheme has been brought before him,
even in the midst of his remorse--remorse, too, which will not allow
him to open her letter--the thought of Miss Phillips once more drives
away all recollection of Marion, even while he has before him the
unopened letter of that wronged and injured girl. Jack's brain was
certainly of a harum-scarum order, such as is not often found--he was a
creature of whim and impulse--he was a rattle-brain, a scatter-brain
--formed to win the love of all--both men and women--formed, too, to
fall into endless difficulties--formed also with a native buoyancy of
spirit which enabled him to float where others would sink. By those
who knew him, he would always be judged lightly--by those who knew him
not, he would not fail to be judged harshly. Louie knew him, and
laughed at him--Marion knew him not, and so she had received a stroke
of anguish. Jack was a boy--no, a child--or, better yet, a great big
baby. What in the world could I say to him or do with him? I alone knew
the fullness of the agony which he had inflicted, and yet I could not
judge him as I would judge another man.

"I'll pay her up!" reiterated Jack, shaking his head fiercely.

"But before paying her up, Jack," said I, "wouldn't it be well to read
that letter?"

Jack gave a sigh.

"_You_ read it, Macrorie," said he; "I know all about it."

"Well," said I, "that is the most astonishing proposal that I ever
heard even from you. To read a letter like that!--Why, such a letter
should be sacred."

Jack's face flushed. He seized the letter, tore it open, and read. The
flush on his face deepened. As he finished, he crushed it in his hand,
and then relapsed into his sombre fit.