"I am only one of thousands. My
wretched experience is not at all uncommon."
"I know," she answered. "But don't you think that perhaps you had better
tell me? Perhaps, in the mere telling of it to me, now that it is all
over, you may find the real reason for--for what happened to you."
Wise Auntie Sue!--wise in that rarest of all wisdom,--the sympathetic
understanding of human hearts and souls.
"You know about my earlier life," he began; "how, in my boyhood, after
mother's death, I worked at anything I could do to keep myself alive,
and how I managed to gain a little schooling. I was always dreaming of
writing, even then. I took the business course in a night-school, not
because I liked it, but because I thought it would help me to earn a
living in a way that would give me more time for what I really wanted
to do. And after I finished school, and had finally worked up to a good
position in that bank, I did have more time for my writing. But,"--he
hesitated--"I--well,--other interests had come into my life,--and--"
Auntie Sue said, softly, "She did not understand, Brian."
"No, she did not understand," he continued, accepting Auntie Sue's
interpretation without comment. "And when my writing brought no money,
because no publisher would accept my stuff, and the conditions under
which I wrote became intolerable because of misunderstanding and
opposition and disbelief in my ability and charges of neglect,
I--I--stole money from my employers to gain temporary relief until my
writing should amount to something.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115