"Yes. Partly I wanted to let him feel there was something he could do for me,--you understand. And partly, too, I wanted to enlist his interest for Mr. Clyde, if an opportunity should ever come up where he needed help that Eugene could give. You never can tell."
"You can't ordinarily," I admitted. "But at present poor Gene has put himself out of the way of doing a service for anyone. His hands will be tied for a long time."
"But--you do think there is a possibility of getting him off, don't you? He is so young!" Miss Thurston rose as she spoke, and in spite of her kindly tone in regard to Gene, I could see that the important part of the interview was over when Clyde passed out of our conversation.
"Of course I should not admit anything else," I answered, and she departed, leaving me impressed anew with the important part which women play in the affairs of men. Truly, sentiments may be stronger than ropes, and emotions more devastating than floods. And the woman who is all tenderness and quivering watchfulness for one man will be as indifferent as Nature to the sufferings of another. I was sorry for Gene. Prison was not the worst of his trials.
It was not a particularly pleasant mission on which Miss Thurston had sent me. I went to the jail for an interview with Gene with very uncomfortable anticipations. It isn't pleasant to hit a man whose hands are tied,--and that my communication would be in the nature of a blow to him I could not doubt.
He looked nervous and harassed, and the innate courtesy which characterized him was, I felt, the only thing that kept him from resenting my visit.
"I hope you haven't come to talk about that wretched Barker," he said at once, trying to smile, but betraying the effort in the attempt.
"Not unless you wish to."
He shook his head. "No. I told you all about it once. I don't want to think about it any more. It makes me--ill."
"Very well. We'll gossip about our friends instead. Have you heard about Clyde?"