My
mother helped me; then she died. My brothers cut me, condemning me as
a Bohemian and a vagabond. I confess that I did take a malicious
pleasure in rubbing their sleek fur the wrong way. Then I crossed the
Atlantic as the guest of an American millionaire. He took me on in his
own car to California. I started a studio in San Francisco--and a life
class. That undid me, I found myself bankrupt. Then I fell desperately
ill. Each day I felt the quicksands engulfing me."
"But your friends?" I interrupted.
"My friends? Yes, I had friends; but perhaps you will understand me,
having seen to what depths I fell, that I couldn't bring myself to
apply to my friends. Well, I was at my last gasp when I crawled up to
your barn. I mean morally, for my strength was returning. You and your
brother rode up. By God! I could have killed you!"
"Killed us?"
"You looked so fit, so prosperous, and I could read you both, could
see in flaming capitals your pity, your contempt,--aye, and your
disgust that a fellow-Englishman should be festering before your eyes.
I asked for leave to spend the night in your barn, and you said, 'All
right.
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