“Yes,” he answered sympathetically, “it's hard for a young fellow to die. How old was he, anyhow? I don't know.”
“Not much older than you are now. It was seven years ago. And if he had only died, poor dear! There are things so much worse than death.”
“Worse!”
“Awful disgrace is worse,” she faltered. She was plainly trying to keep moisture out of her eyes.
“Did he get into some bad mix-up, poor fellow?” If there had been anything like that, no wonder it broke her up to think of him.
It surely did break her up. She flushed emotionally.
“The cruel thing was that he didn't really do what he was accused of,” she said.
“He didn't?”
“No; but he was a ruined man, and he went away to the Klondike because he could not stay in England. And he was killed—killed, poor boy! And afterward it was found out that he was innocent—too late.”
“Gee!” Tembarom gasped, feeling hot and cold. “Could you beat that for rotten luck! What was he accused of?”