"A sure thing," replied Gershom concisely. Then he whistled sharply, and
added, "Rotten, that's what I call it."
"She said she'd never had a chance," remarked Patty thoughtfully, "I
wonder what she meant."
The funereal expression spread like a pall over Gershom's features, but
his intermittent whistle sounded as sprightly as ever. "Well, how many
folks in this world have ever had what you might call a decent chance?"
he asked.
"I don't know. I hadn't thought." The girl looked depressed and
puzzled. "It's a dreadful thing to think that nobody cares when you're
dying." Then her tone grew more hopeful. "Do you suppose anybody thinks
that Father never had a chance?" she asked.
Gershom broke into a laugh. "Well, if he had it, you may be pretty sure
that he made it himself," he retorted.
"Then I wish he could make some for other people."
"He says he's trying to, doesn't he? But between us, Patty, my child,
you won't forget what you have to say to the old man, will you?"
"What have I to say? Oh, you mean about standing by his friends?"
"That's just it.
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