the midst of some confusion. I felt a blow on my head and a grip on my
arm and heard a voice shouting in my ear, 'You scoundrel, I 'll kill
you!' I was in another room, my friend's wife was sobbing hysterically
on a lounge, and he was gripping and shaking me and pointing a pistol
at my head.

"He said I had shamefully insulted his wife and that he was going to
kill me. And I was drunk enough to believe him, and maudlin enough to
beg for my life and to accept with tears what terms he was willing to
offer. It was finally settled that he should keep me under his
personal charge until I could get five thousand dollars from my father
to pay over to him. Then he made me write a letter to my father which
he dictated.

"He locked me in a room with himself, put the key in his pocket, waited
until he thought I had gone to sleep, and then threw himself down on
the bed with the pistol in his hand and was soon fast asleep.

"But instead of going to sleep I was rapidly getting sober enough to
understand what a rat in a hole I had made of myself, and I was so
overcome with horror and shame that I felt I would rather die than face
my father again. I put the letter, which he had left lying on a table,
in my pocket. With my knife I took out the screws of the door lock and
was soon creeping stealthily downstairs. As I turned the first street
corner I saw that my keeper was rushing after me in hot pursuit. Day
was just breaking, and through the dim, deserted streets I ran at the
top of my speed, turning corners, dodging down side streets, trying my
best to get out of sight of my pursuer. He kept close behind me, but
at last I reached the docks,--where I meant to drown myself,--just
enough ahead of him to dodge behind a pile of lumber.