rse
to a set of molecular equations, Brenton. Best give it up, and take
what's left in the most thankful spirit that you can, not let the
unprovable part of it get on your nerves like this."

Brenton chewed the end of his cigar, as if it had been the cud of his
spiritual discontent.

"But, by my profession, I am here to preach the truth," he burst out at
length.

"Preach it, then," Opdyke advised him calmly.

"According to my notion, truth can always be proved."

"Prove it, then," Opdyke advised him, with unabated calm.

"It won't." Brenton spoke with the curt elision of his country
ancestry.

Opdyke watched him steadily for more than a minute. Then,--

"Brenton, don't make an ass of yourself," he besought his friend. "You
have befuddled your brain with such big words as _truth_ and _proof_;
but don't go on your nerves about it. You are doing any amount of good,
from all accounts, here in the town. If you keep steady and sane,
you'll come to where you have an influence with a big, big I, and end
by really counting for something in the place you've chosen. If your
harness galls you, then pad it up. You can make it fit, if you spend a
little time on it. But, if you go restive and kick over the traces and
bolt, you'll do a lot of harm, not only to yourself, but to the people
who'll go plunging after you, without having brains enough to know just
why they do it. Yes, I know I am preaching; but what of it? I got the
habit, years ago," his smile was strangely gentle, strangely full of
such love as is rarely given by one man to another; "when old Mansfield
put you in my care. No; I know you weren't aware of it, but he did.
Anyhow, it has given me a sense of responsibility over you, and I hate
the notion of lying here on my back, and seeing you preparing to make a
mess of your whole life, at just this stage of the game."

"Thanks, Opdyke." Brenton shut his hand on the long, nervous fingers,
shut it and left it there. "But would it be a mess?"

"For the present, yes. Later, it's another question. You've put
yourself under fire, and you've gone panicky; I know the feeling. I had
it, first time I saw a premature blast go off and hurt a man, and I
nearly chucked the whole profession and went into a banking office.
Later, I steadied, found out that even an occasional killing," he
winced at his own words, even as he spoke them; "doesn't count for
much, beside the good done by the total output of a mine. Therefore I
kept