The boy was cowed by his mother’s manner.  He was gathering his few belongings in a bundle.

“I ain’t goin’ to cuss,” he said sullenly, “I ‘m goin’ out o’ your way.”

“Oh, go on,” she said, “go on.  It ’s been a long time sence you been my son.  You on yo’ way to hell, an’ you is been fu’ lo dese many days.”

Joe got out of the house as soon as possible.  He did not speak to Kit nor look at his mother.  He felt like a cur, because he knew deep down in his heart that he had only been waiting for some excuse to take this step.

As he slammed the door behind him, his mother flung herself down by Kit’s side and mingled her tears with her daughter’s.  But Kit did not raise her head.

“Dey ain’t nothin’ lef’ but you now, Kit;” but the girl did not speak, she only shook with hard sobs.

Then her mother raised her head and almost screamed, “My Gawd, not you, Kit!” The girl rose, and then dropped unconscious in her mother’s arms.

Joe took his clothes to a lodging-house that he knew of, and then went to the club to drink himself up to the point of going to see Hattie after the show.

XI

BROKEN HOPES

What Joe Hamilton lacked more than anything else in the world was some one to kick him.  Many a man who might have lived decently and become a fairly respectable citizen has gone to the dogs for the want of some one to administer a good resounding kick at the right time.  It is corrective and clarifying.

Joe needed especially its clarifying property, for though he knew himself a cur, he went away from his mother’s house feeling himself somehow aggrieved, and the feeling grew upon him the more he thought of it.  His mother had ruined his chance in life, and he could never hold up his head again.  Yes, he had heard that several of the fellows at the club had shady reputations, but surely to be the son of a thief or a supposed thief was not like being the criminal himself.

At the Banner he took a seat by himself, and, ordering a cocktail, sat glowering at the few other lonely members who had happened to drop in.  There were not many of them, and the contagion of unsociability had taken possession of the house.  The people sat scattered around at different tables, perfectly unmindful of the bartender, who cursed them under his breath for not “getting together.”

Joe’s mind was filled with bitter thoughts.  How long had he been away from home? he asked himself.  Nearly a year.  Nearly a year passed in New York, and he had come to be what he so much desired,—­a part of its fast life,—­and now in a moment an old woman’s stubbornness had destroyed all that he had builded.

What would Thomas say when he heard it?  What would the other fellows think?  And Hattie?  It was plain that she would never notice him again.  He had no doubt but that the malice of Minty Brown would prompt her to seek out all of his friends and make the story known.  Why had he not tried to placate her by disavowing sympathy with his mother?  He would have had no compunction about doing so, but he had thought of it too late.  He sat brooding over his trouble until the bartender called with respectful sarcasm to ask if he wanted to lease the glass he had.