But let me
do something for you now. I've sent to New York for five thousand
dollars. I've got terms on the old farm. Let me see you all back
there once more before I return."
"I don't want any of your charity."
"It ain't charity. It's only justice to you." He rose. "Come now, let's
get at an understanding, Grant. I can't go on this way. I can't go
back to New York and leave you here like this."
Grant rose, too. "I tell you, I don't ask your help. You can't fix this
thing up with money. If you've got more brains 'n I have, why it's
all right. I ain't got any right to take anything that I don't earn."
"But you don't get what you do earn. It ain't your fault. I begin te
see it now. Being the oldest, I had the best chance. I was going to
town to school while you were plowing and husking corn. Of
course I thought you'd be going soon, yourself. I had three years
the start of you. If you'd been in my place, you might have met a
man like Cooke, you might have gone to New York and have been
where I am'.
"Well, it can't be helped now. So drop it."
"But it must be!" Howard said, pacing about, his hands in his coat
pockets. Grant had stopped work, and was gloomily looking out of
the door at a pig nosing in the mud for stray grains of wheat at the
granary door:
"Good God! I see it all now," Howard burst out in an impassioned
tone.
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