“When I was a boy,” I continued, “I always felt that I could come to you frankly. You, somehow, understood before anything had been said. I thought, perhaps, you might have understood this time, and that that was why you asked me.”
He threw his arm across my shoulder. “I did, old chap. But you’ve grown older and, since you’ve got all this book-learning and all these grand friends, I kind o’ felt I was a stranger—thought you didn’t need me like you used to.”
“My grand friends and book-learning won’t help me this turn,” I grumbled slowly. “I may need you pretty badly—perhaps, more than ever I did. You’ve heard?”
“Umph!”
“What d’you think about it?”
“It doesn’t much matter what an old knacker thinks about anything.”
“Why on earth d’you keep calling yourself an old knacker?”
“Dunno. It’s amusin’. It’s a kind o’ luxury after spuffling all my life to be able at last to depreciate one’s self. Everything’s amusin’. I know you are; I suppose I am; there’s no doubt about your father. Nothing’s overserious in this gay old world. Mustn’t take things to heart, old chap. Look at me, what I’ve come through. Here I am and not much the worse for wear—battered, but useful, yours truly Obadiah Spreckles, successful breeder of an entirely new strain of perpetually laying hens.” He gave himself a resounding whack upon the chest and cocked his eye at me.
“What do I think about you and the lady in America? Speaking as the ex-proprietor of a Christian Boarding House, I think it’s shocking. Speaking as a man of leisure, I think it’s confoundedly human. Speaking as a shipwrecked cabin-boy who’s suddenly been promoted to captain, I should say that it’s one of life’s ups and downs. There’s no accounting for how love takes a man; it’s as fluky as settings of eggs—all cocks one day, all hens tomorrow, and the day after that nothing. Dash my boots, I sometimes think that nobody’s to blame for anything. Love’s shocking or interesting, according to your fancy. Take Lavinia and myself. I haven’t made her a good husband. I’ve been a failure and a slacker. I’ve made her happy now only by an accident. People look at us and wonder what we find in one another. They don’t know—can’t see beneath the surface. We never had any children. It’s been hard fighting. But I swear she’s never regretted.—Aye, it’s wonderful the pains God takes to bring a man and a woman together. These things ain’t accidents. If you’re meant to have her, you may have to wait, but nothing can stop you—just like me and my fowls. Life’s a leading. ‘He leadeth me beside the still waters,’ eh, what! But it’s often rough treading till you get there.—That’s all I have to say about it, old chap.”
“The door of Pope Lane’s shut against me,” I told him. “Ruthie’s married the fellow I detested. They’re none of them talking to me now.”