"You shall hear of me, too," I declared with some haughtiness.
He only smiled politely and made no answer.
Nettled, I asked arrogantly, "Don't you think I have more sense—more intellect than Peck?"
"More intellect—yes—much more.—More sense? No. Remember the fable. 'There are ways that you know not and paths that you have not tried.'"
"Oh! that fable—it is as old as——"
"Humanity," he said. "'To scorn delights and live laborious days.' You will never do that—Peck will."
I left him, angry and uncomfortable.
I had rather looked forward to going to the West to a near cousin of my father's, who, if report were true, had made a fortune as a lawyer and an investor in a Western city. He and my father had been boys together, but my cousin had gone West and when the war came, he had taken the other side. My father, however, always retained his respect for him and spoke of him with affection. He had been to my home during my early college-life—a big, stolid, strong-faced man, silent and cold, but watchful and clear-minded—and had appeared to take quite a fancy to me.
"When he gets through," he had said to my father, "send him out to me. That is the place for brains and ambition, and I will see what is in him for you."
Now that I had failed, I could not write to him; but as he had made a memorandum of my graduation year, and as he had written my father several times, I rather expected he would open the way for me. But no letter came. So I was content to go to the capital of the State.