"I'm sorry, John, but we did all we could last month--and we failed;
there's just one thing to do--face the matter. It's hard, but this world is
chiefly water, and what isn't water is largely rock--it's for fish and
fossils, I suppose."

"But we will win now!" The old man's hand fell with decision.

"Why do you say that?"

"Mother had another dream last night."

"But, you know, she had one a month ago," quietly protested Long.

"Yes--and it came true--we didn't do our part just right. We can't
fail this time; there must be a day of justice!"

"Well, as to that, John, this game of life is strange; we bring nothing
with us, so how can we lose? We take nothing away, so how can we
win? We think; we plan; we stack these plans with precision, but Chance
always sits at our right, waiting to cut the cards. You speak of 'justice.'
It's a myth. The statue above the court-house stands first on one foot,
then on the other, tired of waiting, tired of the sharp rocks of
technicality, tired of the pompous farce. Why, Dale," he waved a hand
toward an opposite corner, "if old Daniel Webster were here he couldn't
do anything!"

When an American lawyer cites that mighty shade it is conclusive, but
the effect was lost on Dale. He was not a lawyer, neither had he read the
"Dartmouth College Case" nor the "Reply to Hayne." In fact his relations
with the "Sage of Marshfield" were so formal he believed his fame