They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. I suppose I believe in God. After fifteen years, to find that peculiarly Occidental attribute—college loyalty—still alive in his heart! A Western idea that had survived; an idea that was merely the flower of youthful enthusiasm! With his hands still in his sleeves, his chin down in speculation over this phenomenon, he continued his patrol. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. Shari was snoring soundly. It was hard to part with romance, but she had never thirsted so keenly to go on with her University work in her life as she did that day.
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