I'm a thief, a fire-
eating highwayman, begad, and here I am, with a perforated lung, going to
marry a young girl like that, without one penny in the world except what
I stole! What beasts men are! The worst woman may be worse than the
worst man, but all men are worse than most women. But she wants to marry
me. She knows exactly what I am in health and prospects; so why
shouldn't I?"
He drew himself up, thinking honestly. He believed that he would live if
he married Christine; that his "cold" would get better; that the hole in
his lung would heal. It was only a matter of climate; he was sure of it.
Christine had a few hundred dollars--she had told him so. Suppose he
took three hundred dollars of the five thousand dollars: that would leave
four thousand seven hundred dollars for his sister. He could go away
south with Christine, and could live on five or six hundred dollars a
year; then he'd be fit for something. He could go to work. He could
join the Militia, if necessary. Anyhow, he could get something to do
when he got well.
He drank some more whiskey and milk. "Self-preservation, that's the
thing; that's the first law," he said. "And more: if the only girl I
ever loved, ever really loved--loved from the crown of her head to the
sole of her feet--were here to-day, and Christine stood beside her,
little plebeian with a big heart, by Heaven, I'd choose Christine.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59