A
friend of my father's, also a city man, Woodstock by name, was left
my guardian. He wanted me to begin a business career, and, like a
fool, I wouldn't hear of it. Mr. Woodstock and I quarrelled; he
showed himself worthy of his name, and told me plainly that, if I
didn't choose to take his advice, I must shift for myself. That I
professed myself perfectly ready to do; I was bent on an
intellectual life, forsooth; couldn't see that the natural order of
things was to make money first and be intellectual afterwards. So,
lad as I was, I got a place as a teacher, and that's been my
business ever since."
Waymark threw himself back and laughed carelessly. He strummed a
little with his fingers on the arm of the chair, and resumed:
"I interested myself in religion and philosophy; I became an
aggressive disciple of free-thought, as it is called. Radicalism of
every kind broke out in me, like an ailment. I bought cheap
free-thought literature; to one or two papers of the kind I even
contributed. I keep these effusions carefully locked up, for
salutary self-humiliation at some future day, when I shall have
grown conceited. Nay, I went further. I delivered lectures at
working-men's clubs, lectures with violent titles.
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