“Now see here,” interposed Thorpe suddenly, “you don't even know my name.”
“I know YOU,” replied the boy.
“My name is Harry Thorpe,” pursued the other. “My father was Henry Thorpe, an embezzler.”
“Harry,” replied Wallace soberly, “I am sorry I made you say that. I do not care for your name—except perhaps to put it in the articles of partnership,—and I have no concern with your ancestry. I tell you it is a favor to let me in on this deal. I don't know anything about lumbering, but I've got eyes. I can see that big timber standing up thick and tall, and I know people make profits in the business. It isn't a question of the raw material surely, and you have experience.”
“Not so much as you think,” interposed Thorpe.
“There remains,” went on Wallace without attention to Thorpe's remark, “only the question of—”
“My honesty,” interjected Thorpe grimly.
“No!” cried the boy hotly, “of your letting me in on a good thing!”
Thorpe considered a few moments in silence.
“Wallace,” he said gravely at last, “I honestly do think that whoever goes into this deal with me will make money. Of course there's always chances against it. But I am going to do my best. I've seen other men fail at it, and the reason they've failed is because they did not demand success of others and of themselves. That's it; success! When a general commanding troops receives a report on something he's ordered done, he does not trouble himself with excuses;—he merely asks whether or not the thing was accomplished. Difficulties don't count. It is a soldier's duty to perform the impossible. Well, that's the way it ought to be with us. A man has no right to come to me and say, 'I failed because such and such things happened.' Either he should succeed in spite of it all; or he should step up and take his medicine without whining. Well, I'm going to succeed!”