I had been taking the words of The Man at the rate of one hundred words a minute. Suddenly they came faster, faster. I could scarcely keep up. For the first time I saw The Man had lost his composure. I looked up. The tears were streaming down his cheeks. He arose from his seat, paused, raised his hands and exclaimed:
“This woman, Harriette Bowenni; she was my mother!!”
[CHAPTER XVIII.
SEVENTH SUNDAY.—THE SECRET OF SUCCESS.]
I began the conversation by a protest against attributing the success of Shakespeare so entirely to woman’s influence for “you cannot make a statue out of basswood,” I said.
“Yes, you are right,” answered The Man, “but Shakespeare, you must remember, won the love of this great woman, and thus proved his capacity and ability to succeed. We succeed by means, that is by the help of, others. Now take your pencil and paper and write what I speak—
“The word success scarcely carries the same meaning to two people, and I will make no attempt now to a pedagogic definition of the word, but simply a statement of facts which will not be disputed by any thinking person.
“There are certain conditions which we see surrounding men that are the reverse of success, and on these we are all agreed. So it might be easier to state what success is not, than what it is.
“If we see a person whose face is filled with lines of anxious care, proving to every passerby that the wearer of this look is nervous, apprehensive, restless, fast losing the capacity for enjoying the good things of life, we cannot call this person successful, though he is a millionaire. Yet we find men whom we know are not worth a hundred dollars, but their faces beam with the health that comes only from right living. Their entire bodily attitude tells that they are in line with the harmony of the universe. They are successful.