“Twenty-five thousand dollars!” exclaimed Isobel. “You had all that to––to throw away in a single year?”
“He cut me down to it the last year––a mere bagatelle to what I had all the time I was at college and Tech.,” replied Ashton, his eyes sparkling at the 96 recollection. “He wished me to get in thick with the New Yorkers, the sons of the Wall Street leaders. He gave me leave to draw on him without limit. I did what he wished me to do,––I got in with the most exclusive set. Ah-h!––the way I made the dollars fly! Before I graduated I was the acknowledged leader. What’s more, I led my class, too––when I chose.”
“When you chose!” she echoed. “And now what are you going to do?”
The question punctured his reminiscent elation. He sagged down in his saddle. “I don’t know,” he answered despondently. “Mon Dieu! To come down to this––a common laborer for wages––after that! When I think of it––when I think of it!”
“You are not to think of it again!” she commanded with kindly severity. “What you are to remember all the time is that you are now a man and honestly earning your own living, and no longer a––a leech battening on the sustenance produced by others.”
He winced. “Was that my fault?”
“No, it was your father’s. I marvel that he did not utterly ruin you.”
“He has! In his last will he cuts me off with only a dollar.”
“So that was it?––And you think that ruined you? I say it saved you!” she went on with the same kindly severity. “You were a parasite. Now the chance is 97 yours to prove that you have the makings of a man. You have started to prove it. You shall not stop proving it. You are not going to be a quitter.”
“No!” he declared, straightening under her bright gaze. “I will not quit. I will try my best to make good as long as the chance is given me.”