It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. His hunger satisfied, his spirits began to revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. He felt the first sting of the whip. “Smirched!.
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