tin'. I guess I was no worse
scared than the rest of 'em, but when it came to the end I'd 'bout made
up my mind that if there was another war I'd go to Canady; I was sick of
it, and I was sick of business even before I lost money. I lost pretty
much everything. Josiah--he was always a good enough friend of
mine--wanted me to start in again, and he offered to back me, but I said
no. I said if he wanted to do something for me, he could let me come
home and live on the old place, here; it wouldn't cost him anything like
so much, and it would be a safer investment. He agreed, and here I be,
to make a long story short."

Hilbrook had stiffened more and more, as he went on, in the sort of
defiance he had put on when he first began to speak of himself, and at
the end of his confidence Ewbert did not venture any comment. His
forbearance seemed to leave the old man freer to resume at the point
where he had broken off, and he did so with something of lingering
challenge.

"You asked me just now why I didn't think character, as we call it, gave
us some right to expect a life after this. Well, I'll try to tell you. I
consider that I've been the rounds, as you may say, and that I've got as
much character as most men. I've had about everything in my life that
most have, and a great deal more than some. I've seen that everything
wears out, and that when a thing's worn out it's for good and all. I
think it's reasonable to suppose that when I wear out it will be for
good and all, too. There isn't anything of us, as I look at it, except
the potentiality of experiences. The experiences come through the
passions that you can tell on the fingers of one hand: love, hate, hope,
grief, and you may say greed for the thumb. When you've had them, that's
the end of it; you've exhausted your capacity; you're used up, and so's
your character,--that often dies before the body does."

"No, no!" Ewbert protested. "Human capacity is infinite;" but even while
he spoke this seemed to him a contradiction in terms. "I mean that the
passions renew themselves with new occasions, new opportunities, and
character grows continually. You have loved twice, you have grieved
twice; in battle you hated more than once; in business you must have
coveted many times. Under different conditions, the passions, the
potentiality of experiences, will have a pristine strength. Can't you
see it in that light? Can't you draw some hope from that?"

"Hope!" cried Ransom Hilbro