tails, the devil wins. Anyway, I'm sick of this, and I'm out of
it."

"Harold," said the older man (and there was a slight tremor in
his voice),
"don't let us quarrel on Christmas Eve. All I want is to
persuade you to
think seriously of the duties and responsibilities to which God
has
called you--don't speak lightly of heaven and hell--remember,
there is
another life."

The young man came back and laid his hand upon his father's
shoulder.

"Father," he said, "I want to remember it. I try to believe in
it.
But somehow or other, in this house, it all seems unreal to me.
No doubt all you say is perfectly right and wise. I don't
venture to
argue against it, but I can't feel it--that's all. If I'm to
have a soul,
either to lose or to save, I must really live. Just now neither
the
present nor the future means anything to me. But surely we won't
quarrel.
I'm very grateful to you, and we'll part friends. Good-night,
sir."