arted back, without clothes enough on him
to wad a gun, thinking maybe they would stick up their noses and say he
smelled bad, and quarantine him, and make him take a bath, but, instead
of doing so, they just fell on his neck and wept, and set up a calf
lunch for him, he must have thought the world was worth living in. Uncle
Ike, were you ever a prodigal son?" and the boy turned over the wet
clothes so the sun would dry the other side.

"Yes, sir, I have been a prodigal son, and every boy who goes away from
home to make his own living is a prodigal son, in a way," and he and
the boy sat down under a tree, the one to talk and the other to listen.
"When a boy decides to leave the old roof tree at home to go out into
the world, it is most always against the wishes of his parents; but he
argues with them, and finally prevails on them to let him go. It is what
he amounts to after he gets away that makes him either a prodigal or a
thoroughbred. If a boy goes into bad company, and thinks the world is
made to spend unearned money in, instead of to earn money in and save
it, it is only a matter of time when he comes back home a prodigal son,
either alive and needing a doctor and a mother's care, or he comes in
a box to be buried, his father to pay the express charges. On the other
hand, if he gets a job, doing something, anything, masters the business,
and becomes a valuable citizen, maybe in time at the head of his
profession or business, some day he comes home to the old folks, and
there are smiles instead of tears, a brass band instead of the singing
by the funeral choir, and he pays the mortgage on the old homestead,
instead of having his father pay express charges on the remains. That
is the difference. All boys can be prodigals if they have the prodigal
bacillus in their systems when they go out into the world; but if they
have the get-there-Eli microbe concealed in their pajamas when they go
away, they can laugh at the traps and nets that are thrown out to catch
them, stand off the alleged friends who try to induce them to go
into the red paint business, use the red liquor to rub on bruises and
strained muscles on the outside, instead of taking it internally to
build fires that never quench. Which kind of a prodigal nephew you want
to be--one who comes home with a suit of clothes and a bank account, the
glow of health on your cheek, and a love of life and all that goes with
it; or a prodigal with a blanket, a haversack ful