SWING'S STOEY 63 



In this he succeeded after a fashion, and as time 

 passed he grew successful. A career seemed pos- 

 sible. 



In the meantime he married. A mere girl, pretty, 

 unsophisticated, affectionate but utterly ignorant of 

 the responsibilities she was incurring that was how. 

 Ewing described his wife. They never got on to- 

 gether after the first flush faded. They quarrelled 

 and made up and quarrelled again and then came, 

 suddenly, the demolition of their house of cards. 



"I blame myself," said my companion, "I blame 

 myself more than Millie. She was used to atten- 

 tion. And I thought of nothing but my music my- 

 self. One night I came in late I'd played that 

 night and found she had gone. She left a note 

 a few words only. She'd met some one, she said, 

 who'd be kind to her. 



"I took it pretty hard. I was half -mad, I think, 

 for a time. I forgot my violin, my career, every- 

 thing. I hit up the booze till I got to be a wreck. 

 I began to inquire around and finally located the 

 man my wife had run off with. He was a fellow 

 named Donohue, a broncho buster with one of the 

 Wild West outfits sort of a tough proposition, from 

 all accounts. But he must have cared for Millie 

 there wasn't any other reason for taking her away. 



"Finally I started out to find them. I'd drink a 

 while, then work some; then whenever I found a 

 clue, I'd follow after. They found out about it and 

 Donohue deserted my wife. k That made me glad. 



