"And I tell you he believes as I do, but he hasn't pluck to act up to
it. He's not even told one of his fine friends what his brother does; he
says it's for the sake of his school. He's living a lie for his own
pride. He's got himself made master of a college, fine as a fiddle, and
he cares more about that than about his brother. With all his prayers
and his sermons in church every Sunday, he'd let me go to the dogs
rather than live out the truth. He thinks I've gone to the devil now,
because I left him in a rage, and I told him I'd go and learn to spend
my money, and drink, and swear, and gamble as a _gentleman_ should. He
thinks I've done it, and he writes and implores me, by all that's holy,
to forsake evil courses; but never a word like 'Come back and set up
your shop, old fellow, and I'll be your customer.' That's the amount of
his religion."

"It was a hard choice ye put upon him," said Bates, solemnly.

"You think it was? Well!" The young man gave a boisterous laugh.

"For, in the first place, it's not his fault, but your own entirely, if
ye go to the bad."

"I've not gone to the bad; but if I had, if I'd gone straight there, it
would have been his fault."

"'Twould just have been your own. There's just one man that's
responsible for your actions, and that's yourself. If your brother was a
compete blackguard, instead of a good man, that's no excuse for you. God
never put any man into this world and said, 'Be good if some other man
is.'"