adway
(not on it) in New York, I ran into my brother quite by accident, he as
prosperous and comfortable as ever. I think I resented him more than
ever. He was of course astonished, shocked, as I could plainly see, by
my appearance and desire not to be seen. He demanded to know where I was
living, wanted me to come then and there and stay with him, wanted me to
tell him what the trouble was--all of which I rather stubbornly refused
to do and finally got away--not however without giving him my address,
though with the caution that I wanted nothing.

The next morning he was there bright and early in a cab. He was the most
vehement, the most tender, the most disturbed creature I have ever seen.
He was like a distrait mother with a sick child more than anything else.

"For God's sake," he commented when he saw me, "living in a place like
this--and at this number, too!" (130 it was, and he was superstitious as
to the thirteen.) "I knew there'd be a damned thirteen in it!" he
ejaculated. "And me over in New York! Jesus Christ! And you sick and run
down this way! I might have known. It's just like you. I haven't heard a
thing about you in I don't know when. Well, I'm not going back without
you, that's all. You've got to come with me now, see? Get your clothes,
that's all. The cabby'll take your trunk. I know just the place for you,
and you're going there tomorrow or next day or next week, but you're
coming with me now. My God, I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself,
and me feeling the way I do about you!" His eyes all but brimmed.

I was so morose and despondent that, grateful as I felt, I could
scarcely take his mood at its value. I resented it, resented myself, my
state, life.

"I can't," I said finally, or so I thought. "I won't. I don't need your
help. You don't owe me anything. You've done enough already."

"Owe, hell!" he retorted. "Who's talking about 'owe'? And you my
brother--my own flesh and blood! Why, Thee, for that matter, I owe you
half of 'On the Banks,' and you know it. You can't go on living like
this. You're sick and discouraged. You can't fool me. Why, Thee, you're
a big man. You've just got to come out of this! Damn it--don't you
see--don't make me"--and he took out his handkerchief and wiped his
eyes. "You can't help yourself now, but you can later, don't you see?
Come on. Get your things. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't. You've
got to come, that's all. I won't go without you," and he began l