"I WILL STUDY AND MAKE READY, AND MAYBE MY CHANCE WILL COME."
—ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Durmont read this, and then looked at the boy as if seeing him for the first time. Again he looked at the words, and far beyond them he saw his own struggling boyhood, climbing daily Life's slippery path, trying to find some hold by which to pull himself up. And as he watched the brown-skinned boy bending over the instruments, instinct told him here was one who would find it still harder to fight his way up, because of caste.
"Ah!"
The exclamation startled him. The boy with phones adjusted was busily writing.
"Well, has that partner of yours got that message down at his end yet?"
"Yes, sir, and here is your answer from New York."
"Why it's only been half an hour since I wrote it," said Durmont.
"Yes, that horse wouldn't have got into town yet," grinned the boy.
Durmont snatched the paper, read it, threw his cap in the air, exclaiming, "The day is saved. Boy, you're a winner. How much?" putting his hand in his pocket suggestively.
"How much you owe to my help, I don't know," answered the lad sagely. "I offered to help you because you needed it, and I was glad of the chance to prove what I believed I could do. I'm satisfied because I succeeded."