“I mean that you are forever thinking you are on the brink of nothingness, when the true horizon-line is too far for you ever to reach in your mortal life.”
“Not in this case,” said Robert.
“You know nothing about it. But if you will excuse me, it seems to me that the matter of all these people being reduced to starvation in a howling winter is of more importance than the coming together of two people in the bonds of wedlock. It is the aggregate against the individual.”
“I don't deny that,” said Robert, doggedly, “but I am not responsible for the starvation, and the aggregate have brought it on themselves.”
“You have shut down finally?”
“Yes, I have. I would rather shut down than not, as far as I am concerned. It is distinctly for my interest. The only one objection is losing experienced workmen, but in a community like this, and in times like this, that objection is reduced to a minimum. I can hire all I want in the spring if I wish to open again. I should run a risk of losing on every order I should have to fill in the next three months, even with the reduced list. I would rather shut down than not; I only reduced the wages for them.”
Robert rose as he spoke. He felt in his heart that he had gotten scant sympathy and comfort. The older man looked with pity at the young fellow's handsome, gloomy face.
“There's one thing to remember,” he said.
“What?”
“All the troubles of this world are born with wings.” Risley laughed, as he spoke, in his half-cynical fashion.