And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. The lonely widows of robber barons found him irresistible and he was the guest of many a fine table. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. ’ She bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed her. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. " "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. .
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