DO WE TRULY DIE?
think you are doing when you propose to turn Woldingstanton over to Farr?"
"At any rate," said Farr tartly, "we do not want soul-blackening and counsels of despair at Woldingstanton. We want the boys taught to serve and help first in this lowly economic sphere, cheerfully and enterprisingly, and then in higher things, before they pass on———"
"If death ends all, then what is the good of trying?" Mr. Dad said, still brooding over the question. "If I thought that———!"
He added with deep conviction, "I should let myself go. . . . Anyone would."
He blew heavily, stuck his hands in his pockets, and sat more deeply in his chair, an indignant man, a business man asked to give up something for nothing.
For a moment the little gathering hung, only too manifestly contemplating the spectacle of Mr. Dad amidst wine, women, and waistcoats without restraint, letting himself go, eating, drinking, and rejoicing, being a perfect devil, because on the morrow he had to die. . . .
"Immortal," said Mr. Huss. "I did not expect immortality to come into this discussion. . . .
"Are you immortal, Farr?" he asked abruptly.
"I hope so," said Mr. Farr. "Unworthy though I be."
"Exactly," said Mr. Huss. "And so that is the way out for us. You and I, Mr. Dad from his factory, and Sir Eliphaz from his building office, are to soar. It is all arranged for us, and that is why the
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