' And she dropped down on the
ground and cried till she couldn't git her breath. Then she got up and
kissed my hands and went home, leavin' me there alone feelin' like I'd
fell off a scaffoldin' and struck the sidewalk."
Jim arose from his seat and began pacing the platform again. I had not
spoken a word through his long story.
"Jim," I began, "how old are you?"
"Forty-two," he said, in a patient, listless way.
"More than twice as old as Ruby, aren't you? Old enough, really, to be
her father. You love her, don't you--love her for herself--not yourself?
You wouldn't let anything hurt her if you could help it. You were right
when you said every bird has its mate. That's true, Jim, and the way it
ought to be--but they mate with _this_ year's birds, not _last_ year's.
When men get as old as you and I we forget these things sometimes, but
they are true all the same."
"I know it," he broke out, "I know it; you can't tell me nothin' about
it. I thought it all over more'n a hundred times lately.
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