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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

After a moment's
struggle he went on: "I was a damned fool to leave him or I
wouldn't be where I am. 'Garry,' he said to me that last day when
he took me into his office and shut the door,--'Garry, stay on
here a while longer; wait till next year. If it's more pay you
want, fix it to suit yourself. I've got two boys coming along;
they'll both be through the Beaux Arts in a year or so. I'm
getting on and I'm getting tired. Stay on and go in with them.'
And what did I do? Well, what's the use of talking?--you know it
all."
Jack moved his chair and put his arm over his shoulder as a woman
would have done. He had caught the break in his voice and knew how
manfully he was struggling to keep up.
"Garry, old man."
"Yes, Jack."
"If Mr. Morris thought that way, then, why won't he help you now?
What's ten thousand to him?"
"Nothing,--not a drop in the bucket! He'd begin drawing the check
before I'd finished telling him what I wanted it for. I'm in a
hole and don't know which way to turn, but when I think of what
he's done for me I'll rot in hell before I'll take his money.


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