"I reckon you think I'm trying to mix up in something that doesn't
concern me," he began; "and perhaps I am. Maybe you'll make me
wish I'd minded my own business--that's what usually happens. I
remember once, out of pure chivalry, trying to stop a fellow from
beating his wife. Of course they both turned on me--as they always
do. I went to the hospital for a week, and lost a profitable
divorce case. However, we try to do our duty as we see it."
This was anything but a promising preamble; Dave wondered, too, at
his friend's obvious nervousness.
"So you've found the girl, eh?" the judge went on.
"Yes."
"Are you accepted? I mean, have you asked her to marry you?"
"Of course I have. That's about the first thing a fellow does."
Ellsworth shuffled the papers on his desk with an abstracted gaze,
then said, slowly, "Dave--I don't think you ought to marry."
"So you told me once before. I suppose you mean I'm poor and a
failure."
"Oh no! All men are failures until they marry. I'm thinking of
what marriage means; of the new duties it brings, of the man's
duty to himself, to the woman, and to society; I'm thinking of
what lies inside of the man himself.
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