But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him. “What can I do?” “Go and see her. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. Mike chortled. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply.
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