A dozen times on the way home had Dirk
been on the point of consigning it to the gutter. _He_ carry home a
flower! If it had been a loaf of bread he thought it would be more
consistent. Someway he recognized a fine sarcasm in the thought that he,
who had never in his life contributed towards the necessities of the
family, should carry to that dreary home a flower! Yet the fair lily did
its work well during that long walk from East Fifty-fifth Street to the
shadow of the alley. It made Dirk Colson tell it fiercely that he hated
himself; that he was a brute and a loafer,--a blot on the earth, and
ought not to live. Why didn't he go to work? Why didn't he have things
to bring home to Mart every little while, as Mark Calkins did to Sallie?
Hadn't he seen Mark, only a few evenings before he was hurt, with a pair
of girl's shoes strung over his shoulder, and heard him whistle as he
ran, two steps at a time, up the rickety stairs? What would Mart think
if he should bring her home a pair of shoes? What would she think of his
bringing her a flower? She would sneer, of course: and, in the mood
which then possessed him, Dirk said angrily that she had a right to
sneer, and would be a fool not to; and yet he hated the thought of it.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173