“He had comparatively no advantages at first. His father was a bank cashier, but he died in Arizona, so that when he was dead, Mr. Butler found himself alone in the world. His father had come from Australia, you know, and so he had no relatives in California. He went to work in a printing-office, and he got three dollars a week, at first. His income today is at least thirty thousand a year. How did he do it? He was honest, and faithful, and industrious, and economical. He denied himself the enjoyments[47] that most boys like. He saved some coins every week. Of course, he was soon earning more than three dollars a week, and he saved more and more.

“He worked in the daytime, and at night he went to night school. He always thought about the future. Later on he went to night high school. When he was only seventeen, he had a good salary, but he was ambitious. He wanted a career, not a livelihood. He entered father’s office as an office boy – think of that! – and got only four dollars a week. But he had learned how to be economical.”

She paused for breath, and to note how Martin was receiving it. His face was lighted up with interest in the youthful struggles of Mr. Butler; but there was a frown upon his face as well.

“Poor young fellow,” he remarked. “Four dollars a week! How could he live on it? Like a dog, I guess. The food he ate – ”

“He cooked for himself,” she interrupted, “on a little kerosene stove.”

“The food he ate was very bad, I suppose, worse than what a sailor gets.”

“But think of him now!” she cried enthusiastically. “Think of what his income affords him.”

Martin looked at her sharply.

“There’s one thing I’ll tell you,” he said, “Mr. Butler has had no joy for years, hasn’t he? I think his stomach is not very good now. I’ll bet[48] he’s got dyspepsia right now!”

“Yes, he has,” she confessed; “but – ”

“And I bet,” Martin continued, “that he isn’t joyful when others have a good time. Am I right?”

She nodded her head in agreement, and hastened to explain:

“But he is not that type of man. By nature he is sober and serious. He always was that.”

“Three dollars a week,” Martin proclaimed. “And four dollars a week, and a young boy cooking for himself and saving money, working all day and studying all night, just working and never playing, never having a good time, and never learning how to have a good time – of course his thirty thousand came along too late.[49]”

“Do you know,” he added, “I feel sorry for Mr. Butler. He was too young to know better, but he robbed himself of life for the sake of thirty thousand a year. Thirty thousand, a great sum, can’t buy for him right now what ten cents could when he was a kid.”

Such points of view were new to Ruth, and contrary to her own beliefs. But she was twenty-four, conservative by nature, and already crystallized into the cranny of life where she had been born and formed. It was true, his bizarre judgments troubled her, but she ascribed them to his novelty of type and strangeness of living, and they were soon forgotten. Nevertheless, Marin’s strength, and the flashing of eyes and earnestness of face thrilled her and drew her toward him.

“But I have not finished my story,” she said. “He worked, so father says, as no other office boy he ever had. Mr. Butler was always eager to work. He never was late, and he was usually at the office a few minutes before his regular time. And yet he saved his time. Every spare moment was devoted to study. He quickly became a clerk, and he made himself invaluable. Father appreciated him, and he went to law college. He became a lawyer. He is a great man.”