He shook his head.
"It's a bully notion," he demurred, "but it's not for me. No. You see, I'm just a tough sort of man who's big for a scrap. I haven't patience or sympathy for the feller who don't feel the same. You've seen the forest boys?"
"I've been through the Shagaunty."
"Ah!"
Bull Sternford's ejaculation was sharp. The problem of Father Adam's letter was partially solved.
"Well, I guess you're a woman," he went on. "And I'd like to say right here a woman's sympathy is just about the best thing on this old earth. That's why I'd like to cry like a kid when I see it going out to the things that haven't any sort of excuse for getting it. It's good to hear you talk for those boys. It isn't they deserve it, but—as I said, you're a woman. Talk it all you fancy, but leave it at talk. Don't let it get a holt. Don't waste one moment of your hard earned happiness on 'em. I was a forest-jack. I know 'em. I know it—the life. And if you knew the thing I know you wouldn't harden all up as you listen to the things I'm saying:—"
"But—"
Bull flung his cigar away with vicious force.
"Let me say this thing out," he went on. "There's a man in the forest I know, every jack knows. He's a feller who sort of lives in the twilight. You see, he sort of comes and goes; and no one knows a thing about him, except he haunts the forests like a shadow. Well, he's settin' the notion you feel into practice—in a way. He's out for the boys. To help 'em, physically, spiritually, the whole time. They love him. We all love him to death. Well, ask him how far he gets. Maybe he'd tell you, and I guess his story 'ud break the heart of a stone image. He'll tell you—and he speaks the truth—there isn't a thing to be done but heal 'em, and feed 'em, and just help 'em how you can. The rest's a dream. You see, these jacks come from nowhere particular. They take to the forests because it's far off; and it's dark, and covers most things up. And they go nowhere particular, except it's to the hell waiting on most of us if we don't live life the way that's intended for us. No. Quit worrying for the forest-jack. Maybe life's going to hand you all sorts of queer feelings as you go along. And the good heart that sees suffering and injustice is going to ache mighty bad. The forest wasn't built for daylight, and the folks living there don't fancy it. And there isn't a broom big enough in the world to clean up the muck you'll find there."
"You're talking of Father Adam?"