of what I'd say and what satisfaction I'd have in saying it. I thought that that satisfaction would pay me for all you've done—for all you've tried to do to this boy here—for all—no, damn it! not for all!—all hell and eternity couldn't pay you for all you've done—to other boys like him. But now, as I look at your face and study it, I see that you just couldn't understand, that's all; you have lost the ability to understand—and—well, George, that mere fact will pay you, so I won't try to say it. I'll say only good-by, and when you get home to that wife and those daughters of yours—just remember that Jim Holman asked you how you could look them in the eyes. Do that and maybe—you'll understand."
Baldwin stared at him; the mask shifted an instant, then, instantly restored, he turned away.
"He looks old, after all," said Holman. "It has changed him, too. . . ." He drew out his watch. "I can catch that midnight train on the Alton. I'm going to get out of here now; I'm going home to old Jasper. There's a little woman there I want to see, a little woman and some children, and I'm going home—now, at last, to look them in the eyes."
