He did not picture his father as a religious
man. Besides, Fifi, asked point-blank if that was her religion, had
denied, assuring him, singularly enough, that it was only common-sense.
And among them, among all the people that had touched him in this new
life, there was no denying that he had had some curiously unsettling
experiences.
He had been ready to turn the pages of the book of life for Fifi, an
infant at his knee, and all at once Fifi had taken the book from his
hands and read aloud, in a language which was quite new to him, a
lecture on his own short-comings. There was no denying that her question
about his notions on altruism had given him an odd, arresting glimpse of
himself from a new peak. He had set out in his pride to punish Mr. Pat,
and Mr. Pat had severely punished him, revealing him humiliatingly to
himself as a physical incompetent. He had dismissed Buck Klinker as a
faintly amusing brother to the ox, and now Buck Klinker was giving him
valuable advice about his editorial work, to say nothing of jerking him
by the ears toward physical competency. He had thought to honor the
_Post_ by contributing of his wisdom to it, and the _Post_ had replied
by contemptuously kicking him out.
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