“Ain’t you afraid of acquiring it?”
“Oh, no,” said the captain, tranquilly, “no danger of that, I reckon.”
The artists presently took their leave. Then Barrow put his hands on Tracy’s shoulders and said:
“Look me in the eye, my boy. Steady, steady. There—it’s just as I thought—hoped, anyway; you’re all right, thank goodness. Nothing the matter with your mind. But don’t do that again—even for fun. It isn’t wise. They wouldn’t have believed you if you’d been an earl’s son. Why, they couldn’t—don’t you know that? What ever possessed you to take such a freak? But never mind about that; let’s not talk of it. It was a mistake; you see that yourself.”
“Yes—it was a mistake.”
“Well, just drop it out of your mind; it’s no harm; we all make them. Pull your courage together, and don’t brood, and don’t give up. I’m at your back, and we’ll pull through, don’t you be afraid.”
When he was gone, Barrow walked the floor a good while, uneasy in his mind. He said to himself, “I’m troubled about him. He never would have made a break like that if he hadn’t been a little off his balance. But I know what being out of work and no prospect ahead can do for a man. First it knocks the pluck out of him and drags his pride in the dirt; worry does the rest, and his mind gets shaky. I must talk to these people. No—if there’s any humanity in them—and there is, at bottom—they’ll be easier on him if they think his troubles have disturbed his reason. But I’ve got to find him some work; work’s the only medicine for his disease. Poor devil! away off here, and not a friend.”
CHAPTER XVII.
The moment Tracy was alone his spirits vanished away, and all the misery of his situation was manifest to him. To be moneyless and an object of the chairmaker’s charity—this was bad enough, but his folly in proclaiming himself an earl’s son to that scoffing and unbelieving crew, and, on top of that, the humiliating result—the recollection of these things was a sharper torture still. He made up his mind that he would never play earl’s son again before a doubtful audience.
His father’s answer was a blow he could not understand. At times he thought his father imagined he could get work to do in America without any trouble, and was minded to let him try it and cure himself of his radicalism by hard, cold, disenchanting experience. That seemed the most plausible theory, yet he could not content himself with it. A theory that pleased him better was, that this cablegram would be followed by another, of a gentler sort, requiring him to come home. Should he write and strike his flag, and ask for a ticket home? Oh, no, that he couldn’t ever do. At least, not yet. That cablegram would come, it certainly would. So he went from one telegraph office to another every day for nearly a week, and asked if there was a cablegram for Howard Tracy. No, there wasn’t any. So they answered him at first. Later, they said it before he had a chance to ask. Later still they merely shook their heads impatiently as soon as he came in sight. After that he was ashamed to go any more.