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"Can't you understand?" he yelled at last with more strength of lung than politeness. "I quite understand, Mr. Crowe. You were in jail. No doubt we shall read all about it in tomorrow's papers." "No you won't I gave somebody else's name." "Oh." Mrs. Ellicott was ticking off the data gathered so far on her fingers. The brutal quarrel with Nancy. The rush to the nearest blind-tiger. The debauch.
Bred of a fighting line, the acid of self-scorn began eating into his pride, and when a few days later he halted at a wayside smithy, which was really only a "blind-tiger," and came upon a drinking crowd, the ferment of his thoughts developed into action. Sol Breck was sitting with his back turned as the boy strolled in and it chanced that he was talking about Alexander.
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