he has just given a hundred thousand dollars to the University。〃
〃Andwon't he see you？〃
〃At present he's taking a nap；〃 said Krebs。 〃He comes here occasionally
for a rest。〃
〃Do you like interviewing？〃 I asked。
He smiled again。
〃Well； I see a good many different kinds of people； and that's
interesting。〃
〃Butbeing a reporter？〃 I persisted。
This continued patronage was not a conscious expression of superiority on
my part； but he did not seem to resent it。 He had aroused my curiosity。
〃I'm going into the law；〃 he said。
The quiet confidence with which he spoke aroused； suddenly； a twinge of
antagonism。 He had every right to go into the law； of course； and
yet！。。。 my query would have made it evident to me； had I been
introspective in those days； that the germ of the ideal of the
profession； implanted by Mr。 Watling； was expanding。 Were not
influential friends necessary for the proper kind of career？ and where
were Krebs's？ In spite of the history of Daniel Webster and a long line
of American tradition； I felt an incongruity in my classmate's
aspiration。 And as he stood there； gaunt and undoubtedly hungry； his
eyes kindling； I must vaguely have classed him with the revolutionaries
of all the ages； must have felt in him； instinctively； a menace to the
stability of that Order with which I had thrown my fortunes。 And yet
there were comparatively poor men in the Law School itself who had not
made me feel this way！ He had impressed me against my will； taken me by
surprise； commiseration had been mingled with other feelings that sprang
out of the memory of the night I had called on him； when he had been
sick。 Now I resented something in him which Tom Peters had called
〃crust。〃
〃The law！〃 I repeated。 〃Why？〃
〃Well；〃 he said； 〃even when I was a boy； working at odd jobs； I used to
think if I could ever be a lawyer I should have reached the top notch of
human dignity。〃
Once more his smile disarmed me。
〃And now〃 I asked curiously。
〃You see； it was an ideal with me； I suppose。 My father was responsible
for that。 He had the German temperament of '48； and when he fled to this
country； he expected to find Utopia。〃 The smile emerged again； like the
sun shining through clouds； while fascination and antagonism again
struggled within me。 〃And then came frightful troubles。 For years he
could get only enough work to keep him and my mother alive； but he never
lost his faith in America。 ‘It is man；' he would say； ‘man has to grow
up to itto liberty。' Without the struggle； liberty would be worth
nothing。 And he used to tell me that we must all do our part； we who had
come here； and not expect everything to be done for us。 He had made that
mistake。 If things were bad； why； put a shoulder to the wheel and help
to make them better。
〃That helped me；〃 he continued； after a moment's pause。 〃For I've seen a
good many things； especially since I've been working for a newspaper。
I've seen； again and again； the power of the law turned against those
whom it was intended to protect； I've seen lawyers who care a great deal
more about winning cases than they do about justice； who prostitute their
profession to profit making；profit making for themselves and others。
And they are often the respectable lawyers； too； men of high standing；
whom you would not think would do such things。 They are on the side of
the powerful； and the best of them are all retained by rich men and
corporations。 And what is the result？ One of the worst evils； I think；
that can befall a country。 The poor man goes less and less to the
courts。 He is getting bitter； which is bad； which is dangerous。 But men
won't see it。〃
It was on my tongue to refute this； to say that everybody had a chance。
I could indeed recall many arguments that had been drilled into me；
quotations； even； from court decisions。 But something prevented me from
doing this；something in his manner； which was neither argumentative nor
combative。
〃That's why I am going into the law；〃 he added。 〃And I intend to stay in
it if I can keep alive。 It's a great chance for mefor all of us。
Aren't you at the Law School？〃
I nodded。 Once more； as his earnest glance fell upon me； came that
suggestion of a subtle； inexplicable link between us； but before I could
reply； steps were heard behind us； and an elderly servant； bareheaded；
was seen coming down the path。
〃Are you the reporter？〃 he demanded somewhat impatiently of Krebs。 〃If
you want to see Mr。 Dome； you'd better come right away。 He's going out
for a drive。〃
For a while； after he had shaken my hand and departed； I stood in the
snow； looking after him。。。。
VIII
On the Wednesday of that same week the news of my father's sudden and
serious illness came to me in a telegram； and by the time I arrived at
home it was too late to see him again alive。 It was my first experience
with death； and what perplexed me continually during the following days
was an inability to feel the loss more deeply。 When a child； I had been
easily shaken by the spectacle of sorrow。 Had I； during recent years； as
a result of a discovery that emotions arising from human relationships
lead to discomfort and suffering； deliberately been forming a shell；
until now I was incapable of natural feelings？ Of late I had seemed
closer to my father； and his letters； though formal； had given evidence
of his affection； in his repressed fashion he had made it clear that he
looked forward to the time when I was to practise with him。 Why was it
then； as I gazed upon his fine features in death； that I experienced no
intensity of sorrow？ What was it in me that would not break down？ He
seemed worn and tired； yet I had never thought of him as weary； never
attributed to him any yearning。 And now he was released。
I wondered what had been his private thoughts about himself； his private
opinions about life； and when I reflect now upon my lack of real
knowledge at five and twenty； I am amazed at the futility of an expensive
education which had failed to impress upon me the simple； basic fact that
life was struggle； that either development or retrogression is the fate
of all men； that characters are never completely made； but always in the
making。 I had merely a disconcerting glimpse of this truth； with no
powers of formulation； as I sat beside my mother in the bedroom； where
every article evoked some childhood scene。 Here was the dent in the
walnut foot…board of the bed made； one wintry day； by the impact of my
box of blocks； the big arm…chair； covered with I know not what stiff
embroidery； which had served on countless occasions as a chariot driven
to victory。 I even remembered how every Wednesday morning I had been
banished from the room； which had been so large a part of my childhood
universe； when Ella； the housemaid； had flung open all its windows and
crowded its furniture into the hall。
The thought of my wanderings since then became poignant； almost
terrifying。 The room； with all its memories； was unchanged。 How safe I
had been within its walls！ Why could I not have been； content with what
it represented？ of tradition； of custom；of religion？ And what was it
within me that had lured me away from these？
I was miserable； indeed； but my misery was not of the kind I thought it
ought to be。 At moments； when my mother relapsed into weeping； I glanced
at her almost in wonder。 Such sorrow as hers was incomprehensible。 Once
she surprised and discomfited me by lifting her head and gazing fixedly
at me through her tears。
I recall certain impressions of the funeral。 There； among the pall…
bearers； was my Cousin Robert Breck； tears in the furrows of his cheeks。
Had he loved my father more than I？ The sight of his grief moved me
suddenly and strongly。。。。 It seemed an age since I had worked in his
store； and yet here he was still； coming to town every morning and
returning every evening to Claremore； loving his friends； and mourning
them one by one。 Was this； the spectacle presented by my Cousin Robert；
the reward of earthly existence？ Were there no other prizes save those
known as greatness of character and depth of human affections？ Cousin
Robert looked worn and old。 The other pall…bearers； men of weight； of
long standing in the community； were aged； too； Mr。 Blackwood； and Mr。
Jules Hollister； and out of place； somehow； in this new church building。
It came to me abruptly that the old order was gone；had slipped away
during my absence。 The church I had known in boyhood had been torn down
to make room for a business building on Boyne Street； the edifice in
which I sat was expensive； gave forth no distinctive note； seemingly
transitory with its hybrid interior； its shiny oak and blue and red
organ…pipes； betokening a compromised and weakened faith。 Nondescript；
likewise； seemed the new minister； Mr。 Randlett； as he prayed unctuously
in front of the flowers massed on the platform。 I vaguely resented his
laudatory references to my father。
The old church； with its severity； had actually stood for something。 It
was the Westminster Catechism in wood and stone； and Dr。 Pound had been
the human incarnation of that catechi