A sudden rustle and a heavy step was heard, and Squire Tomple approached the bedside, exclaiming,
“I’ll do that!”
“Thank you, Squire,” said George feebly; “but you’re not the right man to do it.”
“George,” said the Squire, raising his voice, and unconsciously raising his hand, “I’ll give them the best business chances that can be had; I can do it, for I’m the richest man in this town.”
“You gave me the best chance in town, Squire, and this is what has come of it,” said Doughty.
The Squire precipitately fell back and against his old place by the wall. Doughty continued,
“Fred, persuade them—tell them that I said so—that a business that makes them drink to keep up, isn’t business at all—it’s suicide. Tell them that their father, who was never drunk in his life, got whisky to help him use more of himself, until there wasn’t anything left to use. Tell them that drinking for strength means discounting the future, and that discounting the future always means getting ready for bankruptcy.”
“I’ll do it, old fellow,” said Fred, who had been growing very solemn of visage.