The old law professor when he took leave of me said--and I remember said it gravely--"Mr. Glave, you have the burden of too many gifts to carry." I was pleased by the speech and showed it. He looked at me keenly from under his bushy eyebrows. "I commend to you the fable of the hare and the tortoise. We shall hear of Peck." I wondered how he knew I was thinking of Peck with his common face, hard eyes, and stumpy legs. "You shall hear of me, too," I declared with some haughtiness. He only smiled politely and made no answer. Nettled, I asked arrogantly, "Don't you think I have more sense--more intellect than Peck?" "More intellect--yes--much more.--More sense? No. Remember the fable. 'There are ways that you know not and paths that you have not tried.'" "Oh! that fable--it is as old as----" "Humanity," he said. "'To scorn delights and live laborious days.' You will never do that--Peck will." I left him, angry and uncomfortable. I had rather looked forward to going to the West to a near cousin of my father's, who, if report were true, had made a fortune as a lawyer and an investor in a Western city. He and my father had been boys together, but my cousin had gone West and when the war came, he had taken the other side. My father, however, always retained his respect for him and spoke of him with affection. He had been to my home during my early college-life--a big, stolid, strong-faced man, silent and cold, but watchful and clear-minded--and had appeared to take quite a fancy to me. "When he gets through," he had said to my father, "send him out to me. That is the place for brains and ambition, and I will see what is in him for you." Now that I had failed, I could not write to him; but as he had made a memorandum of my graduation year, and as he had written my father several times, I rather expected he would open the way for me. But no letter came. So I was content to go to the capital of the State. VI THE METEOR I am convinced now that as parents are the most unselfish creatures, children are the veriest brutes on earth. I was too self-absorbed to think of my kind father, who had sacrificed everything to give me opportunities which I had thrown under the feet of Lilian Poole and who now consoled and encouraged me without a word of censure. Though I was deeply grieved at the loss of my parents, I did not know until years afterward what an elemental and life-long calamity that loss was. My father appeared as much pleased with my single success as if I had brought him home the honors which I had been boasting I would show him. He gave me only two or three bits of advice before I left home. "Be careful with other people's money and keep out of debt," he said. "Also, have no dealings with a rascal, no matter how tightly you think you can tie him up." And his final counsel was, "Marry a lady and do not marry a fool." I wondered if he were thinking of Lilian Poole.