"But isn't that of ancient date?" DeGolyer asked.

"Here, now, young fellow, don't try to saw me!" And then he broke off
with this execration: "Oh, this miserable world--this infernal pot
where men are boiled!" He rolled his eyes like a choking ox, and after
a short silence, asked: "Young fellow, do you know what I'd do if I
were of your age?"

"If you were of my temperament as well as of my age I don't think
you'd do much of anything."

"Yes, I would; I would confer a degree of high favor on myself. I
would cut my throat, sir."

"Pardon me, but is it too late at your time of life?"

"Yes, for my nerve is diseased and I am a coward, an infamous,
doddering old coward, sir. Good God! to live for years in darkness,
bumping against the sharp corners of conscience. I have never told
Henry, but I don't mind telling you that at times I am almost mad. For
years I have sought to read myself out of it, but to an unsettled mind
a book is a sly poison--the greatest of books are but the records of
trouble. Don't you say a word to Henry. He thinks that my mind is as
sound as a new acorn, but it isn't."

"I won't--but, by the way, he is young; why don't you advise him to
kill himself?"

The old fellow flounced off the sofa and stood bulging his eyes at
DeGolyer.