He, too, would win a place among the masses--
Ruth's hand fast in his.
CHAPTER XXIII
When Jack, in reply to Breen's note, stepped into his uncle's
office, no one would have recognized in the quick, alert, bronze-
faced young fellow the retiring, almost timid, boy who once peered
out of the port-hole of the cashier's desk. Nor did Jack's eyes
fall on any human being he had ever seen before. New occupants
filled the chairs about the ticker. A few lucky ones--very few--
had pulled out and stayed out, and could now be found at their
country seats in various parts of the State, or on the Riviera, or
in Egypt; but by far the larger part had crawled out of the fight
to nurse their wounds within the privacy of their own homes where
the outward show had to be kept up no matter how stringent the
inside economies, or how severe the privations. Others, less
fortunate, had disappeared altogether from their accustomed haunts
and were to be found filling minor positions in some far Western
frontier town or camp, or menial berths on a railroad, while at
least one victim, too cowardly to leave the field, had haunted the
lunch counters, hotel lobbies, and race-tracks for months, preying
on friends and acquaintances alike until dire poverty forced him
into crime, and a stone cell and a steel grille had ended the
struggle.
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