owd or try to pass it. A mortal and unreasoning
fear came over me. Try as I would, I couldn't screw my courage up to
the point of going past that crowd. But I had small choice. It was
either go that way or stay out of school. And stay out of school I did.

"And then came the crucial day. I could not ask my parents to vouch for
any absence--I dared not tell them I was not there. So I went back
without an excuse. The teacher was angry. She tried to get me to talk,
but I could not say a word. So she sent me to the principal. She, too,
asked me to explain. Try as I would, I couldn't get the first word out.
Not a sound.

"She, too, failed to understand. Result: I was expelled from
school--sorry day--nobody seemed to understand my trouble--nobody
seemed to sympathize with me--a stammerer.

"Although I pretended to be at school, before the week was out, my
parents found out. Then a storm ensued. I tried to tell them the truth.
They wouldn't listen. Father stormed and mother scolded. There seemed
to be no living for me there. So I ran away from home--ran away because
my parents wouldn't listen--because they wouldn't try to understand.

"Then my troubles began in real earnest. I won't worry you with the
details. I got a job--lost it. Got another--lost that. How many times
that story was repeated I do not know. And remember--I was but a boy!"

Here the old man stopped, his head dropped, his unkempt beard brushed
the front of a tattered shirt, that had seen its day. He seemed lost in
thought--he was living again those days and those nights when he had
wandered an outcast from the world. He was living over a lifetime in a
moment.

He sat there several moments--thoughts far away. Then he raised his
head and there was a tear in the corner of his eye as he said, "But why
should I go on? Look at me. See WHERE I am. See WHAT I am. You would
think I am over 70--I am not yet 50. But it is too late to do any good.
Here I am homeless, friendless, almost penniless. Nobody cares what
happens. Nobody would notice if anything should happen. Nobody has a
job for me--a stammerer. If I could talk, I could work. If I could
talk--Oh, but why tell it again? It is too late now--too late to do any
good!!"

He was right. It was too late. Too late, indeed.

This man was one of the Too-Laters--one of the Put-It-Offs, one of the
Procrastinators. His might be called the story of the Man Who Waited.

First, his parents refused to listen. His teache