"Unless a man is so fortunate as to be born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he finds nothing but up-hill work in this troublesome world. I declare! I'm almost discouraged. I can feel myself going behindhand, instead of advancing."
"Don't say that. You're only in a desponding mood," replied Wilkinson, repressing his own gloomy feelings, and trying to speak encouragingly.
"I wish it were only imagination. It is now nearly ten years since I was married, and though my business, at the time, was good, and paying a fair profit on the light capital invested, it has, instead of getting more prosperous, become, little and by little, embarrassed, until now—I speak this confidently, and to one whom I know to be a friend—were every thing closed up, I doubt if I should be worth five hundred dollars."
"Not so bad as that. You are only in a gloomy state of mind."
"I wish it were only nervous despondency, my friend. But it is not so. All the while I am conscious of a retrograde instead of an advance movement."
"There must be a cause for this," said Wilkinson.
"Of course. There is no effect without a cause."
"Do you know what it is?"
"Yes."
"A knowledge of our disease is said to be half the cure."