“Oh, yes,” he replied, after a moment, “I've suffered, of course. I even made a rather cowardly try at suicide.”
“No—not—”
“On my return from Shau T'ing I walked into the Looker lines in broad daylight. I rather hoped to go out that way. But the fighting was over. I couldn't even get killed.”
He seemed as confiding as a child, this grave powerful man. And he was Betty's father! Brachey was sensitively eager to help him.
“Betty said you had new plans. I wonder if you would feel like telling me of them.”
“Yes. I've meant to.”
“Are you going back to the States?”
“No. Not now. Not with things like this. My worldly possessions, when everything is sold, will probably come down to a thousand or fifteen hundred dollars. My library is worth a good deal more than that, but won't bring it. I have a little in cash; not much. I've estimated that two hundred dollars—gold, not Mex.—will get me down to Shanghai and tide me over the first few delays. I'm giving Betty the rest, and arranging for Withery to turn over to her the proceeds of any sale.”
“But what are you going to do down there?”
“Work. Preferably, for a while, with my hands.”