No others."
"Well, well! You'll forgive me?" said the Doctor. "I did not mean to be
coarse. Only I--The matter will succeed, I know. You will find happiness
in that. Money and fame will come after."
The old man looked up and came towards him with a certain impressive
dignity, though the snuff-colored clothes were bagging about his limbs,
and his eyes were heavy and unsteady.
"You're not coarse. No. I'm glad you spoke to me in that way. It is as
if you stopped my life short, and made me look before and behind. But
you don't understand. I"--
He put his hand to his head, then began buttoning his coat uncertainly,
with a deprecating, weak smile.
"I don't know what the matter is. I'm not strong as I used to be."
"You need success."
How strong and breezy the Doctor's voice sounded!
"Cheer up, Mr. Starke. You're a stronger-brained man than I, and twenty
years younger. It's something to have lived for a single high purpose
like yours, if you succeed. And if not, God's life is broad, and needs
other things than air-engines. Perhaps you've been 'in training,' as the
street-talk goes, getting your muscles and nerves well grown, and your
real work and fight are yet to come.
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