"
"I don't know," said the man, dully.
Dr. Bowdler, perhaps, with well-breathed body and soul, did not quite
comprehend how vacant and well worn out both heart and lungs were under
poor Starke's bony chest.
"You don't seem to comprehend what this engine is to me.--You said the
world was broad. I had a mind, even when I was a boy, to do something in
it. My father was a small farmer over there in the Jerseys. Well, I used
to sit thinking there, after the day's work was done, until my head
ached, of how I might do something,--to help, you understand?"
"I understand."
"To make people glad I had lived. I was lazy, too. I'd have liked to
settle down and grub like the rest, but this notion kept driving me
like, a sting. I can understand why missionaries cross the seas when
their hearts stay behind. It grew with me, kept me restless, like a
devil inside of me. I'm not strong-brained, as you said. I had only one
talent,--for mechanism. They bred me a lawyer, but I was a machinist
born. Well,--it's the old story. What's the use of telling it?"
He stopped abruptly, his eyes on the floor.
"Go on. It will be good for both of us.
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