'I ain't neither!' he said. He could barely talk, but the kid had his
nerve! 'Where you going?' I asked. 'To New York,' he said. 'Aw, what do you
know of New York?' I said. And then, by golly, he busted right down. 'Gee!'
he said, 'Gee! Can't you lemme alone?' And then he beat it down the road!
You could hear the kid breathe, he was hustling so! He's way off now, he's
caught the train! He wants to be a cabin boy on a big ocean liner!" For a
moment there was silence. "Well?" the boy demanded, "What do you think of
his chances?"
"I don't know," said Roger huskily. He felt a tightening at his throat.
Abruptly he turned to his grandson.
"George," he asked, "what do _you_ want to be?" The boy flushed under his
freckles.
"I don't know as I know. I'm thinking," he answered very slowly.
"Talk it over with your mother, son."
"Yes, sir," came the prompt reply. "But he won't," reflected Roger.
"Or if you ever feel you want to, have a good long talk with me."
"Yes, sir," was the answer. Roger stood there waiting, then turned and
walked slowly out of the barn. How these children grew up inside of
themselves. Had boys always grown like that? Well, perhaps, but how strange
it was. Always new lives, lives of their own, the old families scattering
over the land. So the great life of the nation swept on. He kept noticing
here deserted farms, and one afternoon in the deepening dusk he rode by a
graveyard high up on a bare hillside.
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