CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration. “Morning, Mom. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. She would never, never go back. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him.
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