Porter (quietly, in half-dream fashion): Hellow, Jimmie. (pause) Jimmie, I’m a damned coward.
Jimmie: Oh, no, Mr. Porter.
Porter: I didn’t come to see you before you died, Jimmie; I ducked on it.
Jimmie: Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Porter, I understood that.
Porter: I just couldn’t bear it; I knew I’d break down, and I ran away.
Jimmie: There wasn’t a thing you could do, Mr. Porter—it was better to have it over with.
Porter: And that poor old mother of yours, waiting outside at the gate in the snow—
Jimmie: It wouldn’t have done any good for me to see her, Mr. Porter. Nothing would really make her happy but to have me back as a kid.
Porter: Life doesn’t do us that favor, Jimmie.
Jimmie: I know it. But I’m all right now. I’m going to marry a sweet girl, and be vice-president of this bank before long. Would you like me to show you how I opened the vault?