"I wasn't feelin' very good las' night, Mrs. Maloney, but I'm better this mornin'."
The sympathetic woman took the boy's hand and rubbed it gently, and, with many inquiries and much advice, she led him to the table. He forced himself to eat a little food and to drink something that the good woman had prepared for him, which, she declared emphatically, would drive off the "wakeness."
Bachelor Billy did not take his dinner with him that morning as usual. He said he would come back at noon to learn whether anything new had occurred in the matter of the lawsuit, and whether it would be necessary for Ralph to go to Wilkesbarre.
He was really much concerned about the boy. Ralph's conduct since the evening before had been a mystery to him. He knew that something was troubling the lad greatly; but, whatever it was, he had faith that Ralph would meet it manfully, the more manfully, perhaps, without his help. So he went away with cheering predictions concerning the suit, and with kindly admonition to the boy to remain as quiet as possible and try to sleep.
But Ralph could not sleep, nor could he rest. He was laboring under too much excitement still to do either. He walked nervously about the cottage for a while, then he started down toward the city. He went first to Sharpman's office, and the clerk told him that Mr. Sharpman had left word that Ralph need not go to Wilkesbarre that day. Then he went on to the heart of the city. He was trying to divert himself, trying to drown his thought, as people try who are suffering from the reproaches of conscience.
He walked down to the railroad station. He wondered if Rhyming Joe had gone. He supposed he had. He did not care to see him now, at any rate.
He sat on a bench in the waiting-room for a few minutes to rest, then he went out into the street again. But he was very wretched. It seemed to him as though all persons whom he met looked down on him disdainfully, as if they knew of his proposed deceit, and despised him for it. A lady coming toward him crossed to the other side of the walk before she reached him. He wondered if she saw disgrace in his face and was trying to avoid him.
After that he left the busy streets and walked back, by a less frequented route, toward home. The day was very bright and warm, but the brightness had a cold glare in Ralph's eyes, and he actually shivered as he walked on in the shade of the trees. He crossed to the sunny side of the street, and hurried along through the suburbs and up the hill.
Widow Maloney called to him as he reached the cottage door, to ask after his health; but he told her he was feeling better, and went on into his own room. He closed the door behind him, locked it, and threw himself down upon the bed. He was very wretched. Oh, very wretched, indeed.
He had decided to keep silent, and to let the case at Wilkesbarre go on to its expected end, but the decision had brought to him no peace; it had only made him more unhappy than he was before. But why should it do this? Was he not doing what was best? Would it not be better for Uncle Billy, for Mrs. Burnham, for himself? Must he, for the sake of some farfetched moral principle, throw himself into the merciless clutch of Simon Craft?