a coat of varnish colour, and remembered that I'd left it
on one of the window-sills -- the sill of her bedroom window, as it happened.
I knew I'd sleep in next day, Sunday, and guessed it would be hot,
and I didn't want the varnish tool to get spoiled; so I reckoned I'd slip in
through the side gate, get it, and take it home to camp and put it in oil.
The window sash was jammed, I remember, and I hadn't been able
to get it up more than a couple of inches to paint the runs of the sash.
The grass grew up close under the window, and I slipped in quietly. I noticed
the sash was still up a couple of inches. Just as I grabbed the brush
I heard low voices inside -- Ruth Wilson's and Jack Drew's -- in her room.

"The surprise sent about a pint of beer up into my throat in a lump.
I tip-toed away out of there. Just as I got clear of the gate
I saw the banker being helped home by a couple of cronies.

"I went home to the camp and turned in, but I couldn't sleep.
I lay think--think--thinking, till I thought all the drink out of my head.
I'd brought a bottle of ale home to last over Sunday, and I drank that.
It only made matters worse. I didn't know how I felt -- I -- well,
I felt as if I was as good a man as Jack Drew -- I --
you see I've -- you might think it soft -- but I loved that girl,
not as I've been gone on other girls, but in the old-fashioned, soft,
honest, hopeless, far-away sort of way; and now, to tell the straight truth,
I thought I might have had her. You lose a thing through being
too straight or sentimental, or not having enough cheek; and another man
comes along with more brass in his blood and less sentimental rot
and takes it up -- and the world respects him; and you feel in your heart
that you're a weaker man than he is. Why, part of the time I must have felt
like a man does when a better man runs away with his wife.
But I'd drunk a lot, and was upset and lonely-feeling that night.