Shari was snoring soundly. Now she knew why the soldiers had not caught him. 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. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. Jonathan caught her in his arms. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. In the present instance she did not want any interference; she did not want the doctor's wisdom to edge in between these two young fools and spoil the drama. By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. "I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. That glove is still preserved.
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