It made him comfortable for a few hours, then he began to cry and swear.

George Waldeaux had never been drunk in his life.

The ascetic, stainless priest in him stood off and looked at this dog of the gutter with his obscene talk, and then came defeat of soul and body.
"I give up!" he said quietly.

"I'll never try again." He wandered unconsciously to the ferry and, having his yearly book of tickets in his pocket, took the train for home from force of habit.

He left the cars at a station several miles from Weir, and wandered across the country.