Why not, Uncle Richard? Three years ago you might have asked me that
question. Now I ask you _why_?

UNCLE RICHARD

Why? How strange! How could that question arise between a man and his own
nephew?

RICHARD

Three years ago, before Aunt Ethel died, I spent Thanksgiving with you. It
was during the recess, my second year at Harvard. I came here practically
from my mother's funeral. I had just learned the truth about our
affairs--not a thing of ours really ours, not a penny left. How mother had
kept the truth from me, I don't know. But suddenly everything changed. The
ground I had been standing on gave way--my hands grasped everywhere for
support. I had never lacked, never thought about money either way. I took
it for granted that families like ours were provided with a decent living
by some law of Providence.... I came here. I thought of course you would
help me. I didn't think so consciously--I turned to you and Aunt Ethel
from blind instinct.

We spent Thanksgiving together. It was very quiet, very sad. You both
talked about mother and the old days. At breakfast the next morning you
wished me good luck and went off to your office. Afterward Aunt Ethel and
I talked in the living room while I waited for the train. She seemed ill
at ease. She alluded to your affairs once or twice, saying that you were
quite embarrassed by the state of politics, and how sad it was that people
couldn't do all they wanted to in this world for others.