“You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. But how am I to know of things?” “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. "It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes.
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