“Yes,” said Lorrimer. “By way of example, let me relate the true history of James and John.”
“James was the model boy. He studied his lessons, was conscientious and persevering. He held the top of the class so often that he came to consider he had an option on it. He nearly wore his books out with study, and on prize-giving days he was the star actor on the programme. Brilliant future prophesied for James.
“Twin brother John, on the other hand, as consistently held down the bottom of the class. He was lazy, unambitious, irreverent. He preferred play to study, and was the idol of the unregenerate. Direst failure prophesied for John.
“James went into the hardware store and commenced to save his earnings. Soon he was promoted to be salesman. He began to teach in the Sunday School. He was eager to work overtime, and spent his evenings studying the problems of the business.
“John began to take the downward path right away. He attended race-courses, boldly entered saloons, haunted low music-halls. The prophets looked wiser than ever. He lost his job and took to singing at smoking concerts. He spent his time trying to give comic imitations of his decent neighbours, and practising buck-and-wing dances till his legs seemed double-jointed.
“James at this period wore glossy clothes, and refused to recognise John on the street. John merely grinned.
“James stayed with the home town, married respectably, and had six children in rapid succession as every respectable married man should. He owned the house he lived in and at last became head of the hardware store.
“John one day disappeared; said the village was too small for him; wanted to get to a City where he could have scope for his talents. Said the prophets: ‘I told you so.’
“And to-day James, my friends, is a school trustee, an alderman, a deacon of the church. He is pointed out to the rising generation as a model of industry and success. But John—where is John?
“Alas! John is, I regret to say, at present touring in the Frobert & Schumann Vaudeville Circuit. He is a headliner, and makes five hundred dollars a week. All he does for it is to sing some half a dozen songs every night, in which he takes off his native townsmen, and to dance some eccentric steps of his own invention. He has a limousine, a house on Riverside Drive, and a box of securities in the Safety Deposit Vault that makes the clerk stagger every time he takes it out. He talks of buying up his native village some day and the prophets have gone out of business.