This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1911. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XIII He arrived in New York about six o'clock, and when he reached the One Hundred and Thirty-seventh Street subway station about forty minutes later, he found his wife and boys awaiting him. They were delighted beyond measure to see him, and after embracing and kissing him as though he'd been absent a year instead of ten days, they plied him with all sorts of questions about the place, the time he'd had, the people he had met, and a thousand and one other things. "Now, Pop, are you thoroughly rested--do you feel real good--and are your nerves all right?" his wife asked in the most anxious, expectant manner. The excuse he had formulated in order to get away alone was that his nerves were terribly upset, and that he required solid rest and peace, with no one around him and nothing to bother him. They thought he looked so well, he had burnt a great deal; but they were sorry to learn he had not picked up a single pound. Oh! loyal wife, how happy she was to be with her husband again! She could not do enough for him. She unlaced his shoes and took them off; she brought him his slippers and his housecoat, and rushed here and there with the one thought of making him comfortable and to show him how good it was to be at home among his dear ones. He felt deeply wounded in his heart; he hated himself and wondered how any man in the world could be unfaithful to so good and true a wife. Neither kisses nor soft words, however, could efface from his memory the picture of Florence. She was forever in his mind and thoughts. At times he could not disguise his feeling of distress. His faithful wife noticed it, but made no comment. Probably his nervousness has not worn off, she divined. He felt a certain uneasiness, with a strong admixture of curiosity as to how it a...