going to succeed."

A quizzical grin wrinkled Jeff's lean face. "What is success?"

"It's setting a high goal and reaching it. It's taking the world
by the throat and shaking from it whatever you want." James leaned
across the table, his eyes shining. "It's the journey's end for
the strong, that's what it is. I don't care whether a man is
gathering gilt or fame, he's got to pound away with his eye right
on it. And he's got to trample down the things that get in his
way."

Jeff's eye fell upon a book on the table. "Ever hear of a chap
called Goldsmith?"

"Of course. He wrote 'The School for Scandal.' What's he got to do
with it?"

Jeff smiled, without correcting his cousin. "I've been reading
about him. Seems to have been a poor hack writer 'who threw away
his life in handfuls.' He wrote the finest poem, the best novel,
the most charming comedy of his day. He knew how to give, but he
didn't know how to take. So he died alone in a garret. He was a
failure."

"Probably his own fault."

"And on the day of his funeral the stairway was crowded with poor
people he had helped. All of them were in tears."