"Oh, you needn't worry. I'm quite strong."
"I want you to lay out some definite work that I can do, not merely giving money, but myself, my own strength and energy." He laughed. "You know I'm really thinking of asking you to establish a mission for men only, with me as the first patient. It does seem to straighten me out somehow, just being with you—keeps me from thinking crooked."
"Do you think crooked, Jerry?"
"Yes, often. Things bother me. Then I'm like a child. You've no idea of the vast abyss of my ignorance."
"But you mustn't think crooked. I won't have it."
"I can't help it, sometimes. People aren't always what you expect 'em to be. I ought to understand better by this time, but I don't."
"People aren't like books, Jerry. You're sure of books. But with people, you can turn the same page again and again and the printing is different every time."
"People do change, don't they?"
"Yes, and the pages are rather smudgy here and there, but you'll learn to read them some day. The office will help you, Jerry, because business people have to think straight or be repudiated. You ought to go to the office every day and work—work whether you like it or not. You've got too much money. It's dangerous. You're like a colt just out in the pasture, all hocks and skittishness. Work is the only thing for that. It may be tiresome but you've got to stick at it if it kills you."
"I suppose you're right," he muttered.