In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. "I did not know … that it was … like that!" She stepped back; but as his hands fell she caught and held them tightly. . . Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. That is why Wall Street broke your father; he was honest. Threw it out. Listen to me, Winifred.
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