Still, if he were to die, he felt that his father, if yet alive, should
come forward and weep for him, even as Mrs. Paynter was weeping for Fifi
down in the Second Front. He should stand out like a man and take from
Buck's hand the solemn ceremonies of cremation. He tried to picture his
father weeping near the incinerator, and failed, partly owing to the
mistiness surrounding that gentleman's bodily appearance. He felt that
his father was dodging his just responsibilities. For the first time in
his life he perceived that, under certain circumstances, it might be an
advantage to have some definite individual to whom you can point and
say: "There goes my father."
As it was, it all came down to him and Buck. He and Buck were alone in
the world together. He rather clung to the thought of Buck, and
instantly caught himself at it. Very well; let him take it that way
then. Take Buck as a symbol of the world, of those friendships which
played such certain havoc with a man's Schedule. Was he glad that he had
Buck or was he not?
The little Doctor lay on his back in the glare thinking things out.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299