“Um, okay. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. Mr. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. Not at all. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. And me, I know very much of soldiers. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. Brendon.
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