If I lost it, it wouldn't matter to them, but I would never hear the last of it all the same," and a shudder ran through him.
Peter did not tell Jack that had Portman been at home and, out of friendship for him, had agreed to his request, he would have required the old fellow's name on a demand note for the amount of the loan; and that he would willingly have signed it, to relieve the boy's mind and ward off the calamity that threatened those he loved and those who loved him--not one cent of which, the Scribe adds in all positiveness, would the boy have taken had he known that the dear fellow had in any way pledged himself for its return.
For some minutes Jack sat stretched out in his chair, his body aslant; Peter still beside him.

All the events of the day and night passed in review before him; Garry's face and heavy breathing; McGowan's visit and defiance; Corinne's agonized shriek--even the remembrance made him creep--then Ruth's voice and her pleading look: "The poor little boy.
Jack.

He has done no wrong--all his life he must be pointed at." He dragged himself to his feet.
"I will go back to Ruth now, Uncle Peter.

Thank you for trying.

I know it is a wild goose chase, but I must keep moving.