"Look round the whole world, and when you see a
little round hole, jump in feet foremost. There's
a lot of 'em about if a man keeps himself ready."
So those were the last words of Cullingworth, and the
last that I may ever see of him also, for he starts
almost immediately upon his strange venture. He must
succeed. He is a man whom nothing could hold down. I
wish him luck, and have a kindly feeling towards him, and
yet I distrust him from the bottom of my heart, and shall
be just as pleased to know that the Atlantic rolls
between us.
Well, my dear Bertie, a happy and tranquil, if not
very ambitious existence stretches before us. We are
both in our twenty-fifth year, and I suppose that
without presumption we can reckon that thirty-five more
years lie in front of us. I can foresee the gradually
increasing routine of work, the wider circle of friends,
the indentification with this or that local movement,
with perhaps a seat on the Bench, or at least in the
Municipal Council in my later years. It's not a very
startling programme, is it? But it lies to my hand, and
I see no other. I should dearly love that the world
should be ever so little better for my presence. Even on
this small stage we have our two sides, and
something might be done by throwing all one's weight on
the scale of breadth, tolerance, charity, temperance,
peace, and kindliness to man and beast. We can't all
strike very big blows, and even the little ones count for
something.
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