“Very little good comes of it that I can see,” said Farden putting his cigar to his mouth; “that problem in equations that you worked on so long, a precious little good it will do you.”
“Mr. Harlan told us the other day that every obstacle overcome gives us just so much additional strength; that it is by these stepping-stones that we attain the desired result.”
“Stepping-stones of obstacles! that is well enough for Mr. Harlan; but I’ll tell you what, Howe, money is the stepping-stone in this country. Give me that, and I don’t care a picayune for any thing else.”
“The one that knows most usually succeeds best; knowledge wins money.”
“Pshaw! nonsense! that’s not so. Why, the richest man in this county can hardly write his name.”
“That may be; he may prove an exception; but that in no wise does away with the rule.”
“Well, my cigar is out. All I can say is, that we are going to have a capital time to-night; you had better come along. You wont tell, any way; Lovell never did: we could always trust him;” and the door closed.
Why was it that I could not study? Why was it that I should strive and struggle between my inclination to live easily, as Farden did, and my desire to do right? “No right effort is ever lost,” sounded out strong, clear, distinct, almost as though some one spoke it aloud; and so forcibly did it take possession of me, and so much strength sprung up out of each little word, there was no more murmuring, and my morning’s lesson did not suffer from the ungovernable feeling of the evening previous.
A few days after the above conversation Farden came in after his skates, and Harry Gilmore with him. Tapping me on the shoulder, Harry said, “Put up that book; you are looking like a scarecrow. Come.”
“Where?” I asked.