He had been too successful from
the start; he had had all his own way; and he had taken no pains to make
or keep friends. He well knew there was no man in the Cabinet or among
his colleagues that would stir to help him--he had stirred to help no man
in all the years he had served the public. It was no good only to serve
the public, for democracy is a weak stick on which to lean. One must
stand by individuals or there is no defence against the malicious foes
that follow the path of defeat, that ambush the way. It is the personal
friends made in one's own good days that watch the path and clear away
the ambushers. It is not big influential friends that are so important
--the little unknown man may be as useful as the big boss in the mill of
life; and if one stops to measure one's friends by their position, the
end is no more sure than if one makes no friends at all.
"There's nothing left for me in life--nothing at all," he said as he
tossed in bed while the thunder roared and the storm beat down the
shrubs. "How futile life is--'Youth's a dream, middle age a delusion,
old age a mistake!'" he kept repeating to himself in quotation. "What
does one get out of it? Nothing--nothing--nothing! It's all a poor show
at the best, and yet--is it? Is it all so bad? Is it all so poor and
gaunt and hopeless? Isn't there anything in it for the man who gives and
does his best?"
Suddenly there came upon him the conviction that life is only futile to
the futile, that it is only a failure to those who prove themselves
incompetent, selfish and sordid; but to those who live life as it ought
to be lived, there is no such thing as failure, or defeat, or penalty,
or remorse or punishment.
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