something among them. But he was helpless.

He hastened out of the hotel, feeling that every eye was upon him, every
finger pointing at him, every tongue whispering, "There goes Joe
Hamilton, whose father went to the penitentiary the other day."

What should he do? He could try no more. He was proscribed, and the
letters of his ban were writ large throughout the town, where all who
ran might read. For a while he wandered aimlessly about and then turned
dejectedly homeward. His mother had not yet come.

"Did you get a job?" was Kit's first question.

"No," he answered bitterly, "no one wants me now."

"No one wants you? Why, Joe--they--they don't think hard of us, do
they?"

"I don't know what they think of ma and you, but they think hard of me,
all right."

"Oh, don't you worry; it 'll be all right when it blows over."

"Yes, when it all blows over; but when 'll that be?"

"Oh, after a while, when we can show 'em we 're all right."

Some of the girl's cheery hopefulness had come back to her in the
presence of her brother's dejection, as a woman always forgets her own
sorrow when some one she loves is grieving. But she could not