A Hazard of New Fortunes, Part Fifth

oos. "I don't know what the old man's going to do," he said to March the da

not a

ask to have a day named till I know where I am in connection with the old man. I can't tell wh

to us. We're so anxious about the future that

ch. I guess it's more of a blow to him than we realize. He was a good deal bound up in Coonrod, though he didn't always use him

rvel and the curse,

don't believe he ever budged a hairs-breadth from his original position about wanting to be a preacher and not wanting to be a business man. Well, of course! I don't think business is all in all; but it must have made the ol

nvictions are difficult.

e same ones, I know, but they're always to the same effect, as far as Beaton's being Number One is concerned. The old man's got convictions or did have, unless this thing lately has sha

rch. "I don't kno

y to kick the trough over for them when the o

but he was still uncertain just what the con

Now here's Coonrod-or, rather, he isn't. But that boy managed his part of the schooner so well that I used to tremble when I thought of his getting the better of the old man and going into a convent or something of that kind; and now here he is, snuffed out in half a second, and I don't belie

f Providence. When I looked at that poor young fellow's face sometimes-so gentle and true and pure-I used to think

y He seems to do. Think of throwing away a precious creature like Coonrod Dryfoos on one chance in a thousand of getting that old fool o

of Fulkerson startled March. "No!

him a little while after you did, and that young do

can't afford to let such thin

rse?" as

But I just wondered if

u would never have left his side if he could have helped it. March tried to believe that the case was the same, as it stood now; it seemed to him that he was always going to or from the hospital; he said to himself that it m

gayety, and said,

Disch

and now-" They had been walking softly and talking softly down th

and friendless. "Come round this way-he won't know you! I've got rather fond of the poor old fellow. He wouldn't have a

beard flowed upon the sheet, which heaved with those long last breaths. Beside his bed Margaret Vance was kneeling; her veil was