DRIVEN FROM HOME
“Doctor, what shall I do? My father wants me to tend bar on Sunday. I am doing it nights, but Sunday—I don’t want to. What shall I do?”
The pastor of Olivet Church looked kindly at the lad who stood before him, cap in hand. The last of the Sunday-school had trailed out; the boy had waited for this opportunity. Dr. Schauffler knew and liked him as one of his bright boys. He knew, too, his home—the sordid, hard-fisted German father and his patient, long-suffering mother.
“What do you think yourself, Karl?”
“I don’t want to, Doctor. I know it is wrong.”
“But he will kick me out and never take me back. He told me so, and he’ll do it.”
“Well—”
The boy’s face flushed. At fourteen, to decide between home and duty is not easy. And there was his mother. Knowing him, the Doctor let him fight it out alone. Presently he squared his shoulders as one who has made his choice.
“I can’t help it if he does,” he said; “it isn’t right to ask me.”