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Updated: June 27, 2025
"But that doesn't sound like the scientific method," said Beason, brows knitted. "I'll admit it wouldn't do for general practice," replied the older man, a twinkle in his eye. "The spirit has to move you, or you wouldn't gain anything but a broken neck."
Beason, and the longer I live the more firmly I believe that there is such a thing as an intuitive sense of truth. If there isn't, why is Dr. Hubers a greater man than I am?" and with that he left him, smiling a little at how it had never occurred to Beason to say anything polite. Beason was in truth much perturbed.
Beason would happen along that she might give them some insight into the colossalness of their ignorance. She turned down the corridor leading to the room where she would find the special exhibit. She stopped before many of the pictures reverting to that joy of the spirit in dominance.
Some one had brought him in some luncheon at noon, but since one o'clock the door had not opened, and now it was almost five. What was going on in there? Even Beason had the imagination to wonder. Could he have seen he would not have been much enlightened.
They had an extra room, so why not? She did not put it the other way that she felt the house more expensive than they should have now. Of course Karl would make money in his books that had been settled in advance, but things had changed for them, and Ernestine felt the need of caution. Then as to Beason, she said there was that little room he could have, and it would do the boy good to be there.
But Season's mind was working straight from the shoulder. "Does he ever come here?" he demanded. "Yes, indeed; he honours our poor board quite often with the light of his countenance." Beason accepted that as unextravagant statement of fact. "Well, do you know about him?" he asked, bluntly. "That he's 'way up? Oh, my, yes. And we're tremendously proud of him."
"I want you to meet Mrs. Hubers." Ernestine looked at Karl suspiciously something in his voice signified he was enjoying something. But there was nothing about Mr. Beason which signified any kind of enjoyment. He advanced to meet her sturdily, as one determined to do his duty at any cost.
I'd try to get work in Chicago, and stay on, but I not only have to make my own way, but I must help my mother and sister. Next year another deal my father's in will probably straighten things out, and then I suppose I can come back." The man very slowly nodded his head. "I see," he said, his voice coming from 'way off somewhere, "I see." "It's tough!" exclaimed Beason bitterly "pretty tough!"
I'm already doing more than my share in a scriptural way, and I must wash my hands of this." "Yes," said Cameron to himself, as he shut the door; "A certain Roman governor washed his hands once upon a time." And then the pastor took himself to task for his uncharitable spirit. Later in the day, Rev. Cameron had another visitor. Old father Beason, whose hair had grown white in the Master's service.
"I'm sure I don't know," said Beason, bluntly; "I never loved any one that dearly." "'Tis better to love and break one's neck," began Harry Wyman, who aspired to the position of class poet. "If you had ever known Ernestine and Karl," a tenderness creeping into Georgia's voice "you'd be almost willing to hunt houses for them.
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