His look as he answered me was frank, straight, and fearless.
“The fact that he didn’t trust you.” I suppose he must have seen how I
winced, for he went on at once: “That’s about the bitterest pill fellows
like us have to swallow. In addition to everything else that we bring on
ourselves we forfeit other people’s confidence. There’s the nigger in
the woodpile, even when we buck up. Your father was fond of you, Frank;
but he was afraid that if he did for you all he would have done if you’d
gone straight it would only send you to the devil. Don’t you see that?”
With some relief as well as some reluctance I admitted that I did.
“It takes years, Frank, old boy, for men who’ve been where you and I have
been to build up a life which gives a reasonable promise of making good.
In seven or eight months you’ve done splendidly. I don’t know that we’ve
ever had a fellow in the club whose been more game—”
“It’s the club that’s been game.”
“True; but you’ve got out of it the best that it can give. I’ll say that
for you. Only don’t imagine for a moment that your fight is over.”
“Oh no, sir; I don’t.”
“It’s perfectly true that if you resist the devil he will flee from you;
but he can show a marvelous power of coming back. Some of your toughest
tussles lie ahead. Now I’m only reminding you of that to show you that
your father has perhaps done the very wisest thing for you. A large part
of your safety lies in the necessity for your working. If you weren’t
absolutely obliged to do it in order to live like a respectable man
there’s no telling what tide of suppressed temptations might rush in and
engulf you.”