My life had made me unsocial--and out
of the Nazareth of that house I never looked for any good to come. But
when once I took note of you, each day I saw you clearer and truer. I
saw you fighting, and asking no odds--for elbow-room to do your own
work, for your way up on the newspaper, for bodily strength and
health--everywhere I saw you, you were fighting indomitably. I have
always loved a fighter. You were young and a stranger, alone like me;
you stirred no memories of a past that now, in my age, I would forget;
your face was the face of honor and truth. I thought: What a blessing if
I could make a friend of this young man for the little while that is
left me!... And you have been a blessing and a joy--more than you can
dream. And now you will not cast me off, like the others.... I do not
know the words with which to try to thank you...."
"Oh, don't," came Queed's voice hastily out of the dark. "There is no
question of thanks here."
He got up, lit the lamps, pulled down the shade. The old man lay back in
his chair, his hands gripping its arms, the lamplight full upon him.
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