"I went ahead with my education, got my start in life, then
Father died, and you took up his burdens. Circumstances made me
and crushed you. That's all there is about that. Luck made me and
cheated you. It ain't right."
His voice faltered. Both men were now oblivious of their
companions and of the scene. Both were thinking of the days when
they both planned great things in the way of an education, two
ambitious, dreamful boys.
"I used to think of you, Grant, when I pulled out Monday morning
in my best suit-cost fifteen dollars in those days." He smiled a little
at the recollection. "While you in overalls and an old 'wammus'
was going out into the field to plow, or husk corn in the mud. It
made me feel uneasy, but, as I said, I kept saying to myself, 'His
turn'll come in a year or two.' But it didn't."
His voice choked. He walked to the door, stood a moment, came
back. His eyes were full of tears.
"I tell you, old man, many a time in my boardinghouse down to
the city, when I thought of the jolly times I was having, my heart
hurt me. But I said: 'It's no use to cry. Better go on and do the best
you can, and then help them afterward. There'll only be one more
miserable member of the family if you stay at home.
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