“Well,” said Richard slowly, after a pause, “I can understand why you shouldn’t care to be elected marshal now.”
Lester made no response, and Richard did not inquire further into the circumstances of the misdeed or comment on it. After a little time Richard rose to leave the room.
Lester looked up at him imploringly. “There’s one thing, Dick, that I wish you’d understand,” he said. “I’m not feeling callous about this.”
“No,” said Richard gravely, “I suppose not.”
He opened the door and went out. Lester sat gazing into space with unhappy eyes. He had lost the respect of one whom he liked, of a friend who had been even a hero worshiper. He deserved to lose it, he knew, yet he could not help feeling that Richard might have been less cruel. He wondered how they could go on living together now.
Then he reflected again that he was receiving no more punishment than he deserved, and that, if he was to win back his own self-respect, it could be only through hard and honest work. So he settled down to his studying and put Richard resolutely out of his mind.
Meanwhile Richard had accepted Lester’s suggestion and had gone to hear David’s version of the story. Yet, although David made all the excuses for Lester’s action that were possible and enlarged upon his penitence, Richard’s condemnation remained unqualified. There was in him an inherited strain of inflexibility in judging deviations from standards of integrity and truth.
“He simply did a thing that an honorable fellow wouldn’t have done,” insisted Richard. “And then he lied about it. He didn’t own up to it until he was cornered and couldn’t lie any longer. I don’t doubt that he’s sorry and all that; but when you can’t respect a fellow any more, what are you to do?”
“I don’t go so far as that,” said David. “He’s making a fight now to win back his own self-respect and my respect and yours. Give the boy a chance.”