them. He said, softly:

"It is a pity he could not know what a gracious impression his behavior

was going to leave with the dearest and sweetest stranger in the

land of--"

"Oh, I almost loved him! Why, I think of him every day. He is always

floating about in my mind."

Tracy felt that this was a little more than was necessary. He was

conscious of the sting of jealousy. He said:

"It is quite right to think of him--at least now and then--that is, at

intervals--in perhaps an admiring way--but it seems to me that--"

Howard Tracy, are you jealous of that dead man?"

He was ashamed--and at the same time not ashamed. He was jealous--and

the same time he was not jealous. In a sense the dead man was himself;

in that case compliments and affection lavished upon that corpse went

into his own till and were clear profit. But in another sense the dead

man was not himself; and in that case all compliments and affection

lavished there were wasted, and a sufficient basis for jealousy. A tiff

was the result of the dispute between the two. Then they made it up, and

were more loving than ever. As an affectionate clincher of the

252

The American Claimant