“Think so?” He spoke distinctly though his voice was weak. “Well, maybe—maybe. I did hope——” “Yes, Dan?” “I did hope I wouldn’t have to be sick very long. I’ve got so much to do. I’ve done a good deal of work, but I haven’t ever _got_ anywhere with it, much. There’s a mighty big lot I’ll have to begin over, Martha. You don’t”—he paused, and laughed faintly. “You don’t—you don’t suppose God’s used me and now He’s goin’ to throw me away, do you?” “No, no, no!” she said, making her voice cheerful. “You’ve only got to go ahead with what you began long ago.” “No,” he said reflectively. “No; it isn’t exactly like that, Martha. Not exactly, that is. You see right now I’m a pretty complete failure—yes, I am. I’m a pretty bad failure.” “You? You’re not!” “Yes, I am,” he returned feebly. “I better face it, Martha, or I’ll never get anywhere. They’ve got Ornaby away from me——” His cough interrupted him; but he patiently let it have its way; and then, in a tone in which a wondering incredulity seemed to merge with resignation, he said, “Yes, sir; they did get Ornaby away from me!” “But you’ll get it back, Dan?” “Think so? Well, maybe—maybe,” he said indulgently. “But things do look like it came pretty close to a failure, Martha. It _would_ have been one, too—it’d have been a bankruptcy, and I believe I just couldn’t have stood that—but, well, anyhow it wasn’t that bad, thanks to Harlan.” Martha’s eyes widened. “Do you mean—do you mean Harlan helped you?” “It was mighty good of him,” Dan said. “My friends went to him and asked him if he wouldn’t let us have some money on a second mortgage on the new house. Harlan dug out all the securities he could sell for ready cash and he brought the money to me down at Sam Kohn’s office. I must make it up to him some day. If it hadn’t been for that I’d have gone clean under!” He laughed huskily. “Everybody’d have known I was a failure for sure, if it hadn’t been for that, Martha.” “But you’re not!” she insisted. “You mustn’t keep talking such nonsense, Dan.” “It isn’t—it isn’t exactly nonsense.” The cough stopped him again; but he went on, while it still troubled him: “I’m a failure, Martha. I’ve been a failure in business—and a failure as a husband—and a failure as a father. George McMillan hasn’t got here with Henry yet, has he?” “No, dear; not yet.” Dan’s hand moved restlessly under hers, and she released it. With a visible effort he rubbed his forehead, a gesture of perplexity that hurt her and made it difficult for her to retain her appearance of cheerfulness, because this characteristic gesture brought his boyhood so vividly to her memory. “I’ve just _got_ to have Henry back,” he said. “I’ve got to get him back so’s to do right by him. It isn’t—it isn’t fair to a boy, Martha.” “What isn’t?” “Do you remember my grandmother Savage?” “Of course. No one could forget her, Dan.”