He would have knocked the man down who had told him twenty years ago that he ever should forget; that he should be here to-night, with his ticket bought, bound for Colorado.
But it was better for her to be free from him. He and his cursed ill-luck were a drag on her and the children, and would always be. What was that she had said once?
"Never mind, Jack, I can bear anything as long as I have you."
And here he was, with his ticket bought, bound for Colorado.
He wondered if it were ever too late in the day for a fellow to make a man of himself. He wondered—
"And she's a' the world to me,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me down and dee,"
sang the little fiddle, triumphantly.
Harmon shook himself, and stood up. The train was slackening; the lights of a way-station bright ahead. It was about time for supper and his mother, so Tommy put down his fiddle and handed around his faded cap.
The merchant threw him a penny, and returned to his tax list. The old lady was fast asleep with her mouth open.
"Come here," growled Harmon, with his eyes very bright. Tommy shrank back, almost afraid of him.