I did several of the big cities on the Pacific coast, and then
drifted to New York. I need not tell you of my life there, as it
wouldn't do any good. I had the money, and so there was no trouble
about seeing the seamy side of life. But one night, I don't know yet
how it happened, I drifted into a place to hear a famous singer. She
was great, and her voice, oh, dad, I wish you could have heard it. But
what got me was the closing piece. It was called, 'My Little Lad, God
Bless Him.' I can't begin to tell how that song affected me. It
seemed like the cry of a broken-hearted mother for her only boy, who
was away from her. In an instant I thought of mother and you, and when
I left the place that night I was all broken up. I tried to shake the
feeling off, but every night it came upon me stronger than ever.
"As the weeks went by I became very wretched. I saw what a brute I had
been, and how you at home must have suffered. The upshot of it was,
that I left New York, landed in St. John, got waylaid, was in the
hospital unconscious for a long time, unknown to all. When I got out,
I took the evening train, intending to hire a team at Greenside to
drive me home. I couldn't get any one to bring me at that time of the
night, and so I began to foot it.
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