The half-scornful, half-earnest prophecy, to which he had listened years ago in a squalid African hut, flashed into his mind.

For the first time he began to have dim apprehensions as to his future.

All his life he had been a toiler, and joy had been with him in the fierce combat which he had waged day by day.

He had fought his battle and he had won--where were the fruits of his victory?
A puny, miserable little creature like Dickenson could prate of happiness and turn a shining face to the future--Dickenson who lived upon a pittance, who depended upon the whim of his employer, and who confessed to ambitions which were surely pitiable.

Trent lit a fresh cigar and smiled; things would surely come right with him--they must.
What Dickenson could gain was surely his by right a thousand times over.
He took the train for Walton, travelling first class, and treated with much deference by the officials on the line.