Lonely gasped and puffed, and struck out into deeper water.
"Yes, I will come again," he cried back, defiantly, treading water, "and you 'll be sorry for it!"
"And what will yez do, bein' in such a state o' grace?" taunted the other, leaning Titan-like on his grimy barrow.
"Wait, and you 'll see! I am in a state of grace—but—but mebbe it won't last!" he added, darkly.
It was only the advent of Mr. Sampson's regular Wednesday evening meeting that kept Lonely from wavering from the narrow path once trodden by the saints. As had been requested of him, he came promptly on time, with his hair once more slicked down and a pensive smile once more playing about his sad young lips.
The murmur of wonder and approval which greeted his appearance was uncommonly like the first taste of blood to a rampant young tiger.
His mood of Massochistic humility passed away from him; the old intoxicating passion to be in the lead, the old madness to excel
