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CHAPTER IX. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. He never felt any need to explain himself. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen. It was time to leave America. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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