“You have been to school,” she said.
“I have been to what are called the best,” he replied, “I am ashamed to add that I have not always profited by my opportunities. However, with a new start I shall only have myself to blame if I fail again.”
“Success is made up of repeated failures,” she reminded.
“You are talking of honest failures,” he said. “But when a fellow deliberately makes a fool of himself, is headstrong enough not to admit it, blames everything on to someone else—why, he’s the worst sort of a failure.”
“But if he sees his mistakes and admits it, why isn’t he back already to start over again?” she eagerly persisted, now deeply interested in the youth.
“There are some things you can’t fix right,” he sorrowfully replied. “Sometime, when you feel better acquainted with me I’d like to tell you the whole wretched business. But I haven’t the heart to bother you now—nor would it be right for me to do so.”
“It would be right for you to talk with my father,” she gently suggested. “He is very wise. I am very simple. I could sympathize with you, but he could help you with advice. When you are ready, talk with him.”
