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Updated: June 27, 2025
The Wastrel laughed. He had heard this talk before. The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy ... to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. "Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried.
But it's so wonderful to watch you! Whenever you have written something beautiful, your face shows it." "I know; but ..." "And sometimes you say out loud: 'That's great stuff! I never make any sound." "But it is the sight of you!" "All right, Hoddy. I promise not to do it again." She rose. "Good night." He stared at the agitated curtain; and slowly his chin sank until it touched his chest.
But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. Berserker, Spurlock rose, head down, and charged. "Hoddy, Hoddy!... No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. Spurlock halted in his tracks. "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder.
Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. "I was going to die, Hoddy!" she whispered.
The fascination of the idea of throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the hand clenched tightly. "I am very wicked," she said. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy; and I cursed him. But all those empty years!... My heart was hot. I'm sorry.
He took out his handkerchief and wiped his cheeks and forehead. Evidently he was deeply moved. "Mr. Toastmaster, may I ask the privilege of going down to Bellevue with Mr. Middleton? I would ask that I be allowed to insist on going down. I have sinned, grievously sinned, in forgetting old Hoddy.
You never can tell. I'm likely to get up any time in the night to work." Together they were making habitable the second bungalow, which was within calling distance of McClintock's. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Hoddy! All her fears fell away. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give love. Hoddy. No other man should touch her; she was Hoddy's, body and soul, in this life and after.
"Hoddy, Mars Geo'ge!" he exclaimed, bobbing his head and kicking his heel out behind in approved plantation style. "Hello, Plato," replied the young man, "what are you doing here?" "Gwine ter school, Mars Geo'ge," replied the lad; "larnin' ter read an' write, suh, lack de w'ite folks." "Wat you callin' dat w'ite man marster fur?" whispered a tall yellow boy to the acrobat addressed as Plato.
"Wen Dan seed de cunjuh man wuz in a good humor en did n' 'pear ter bear no malice, Dan 'lowed mebbe de cunjuh man had n' foun' out who killt his son, en so he 'termine' fer ter let on lack he did n' know nuffin, en so sezee: "'Hoddy, Unk' Jube? dis ole cunjuh man's name wuz Jube. 'I 's p'utty well, I thank you. How is you feelin' dis mawnin'?
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