Van Tassel Sutphen

The Gates of Chance Van Tassel Sutphen

That's the penalty of having been born a rich man's son and educated chiefly in the arts of riding off at polo and thrashing a single-sticker to windward in a Cape Cod squall. But I sha'n't say a word against the governor, God bless him! He gave me what I thought I wanted, and it wasn't his fault that an insignificant blood-clot should beat him out on that day of days-the corner in "R. P." It was never the Chicago crowd that could have downed him-I'm glad to remember that. Well, there being only the two of us, it didn't matter so much; it wasn't as though there were a lot of helpless womenfolk to consider. After the funeral and the settlement with the creditors there was left-I'm ashamed to say how little, and, anyway, it's no one's business; the debts were paid. What is a man to do, at thirty-odd, who has never turned his hand to anything of use? The governor's friends? Well, they didn't know how bad things were, and I couldn't go to them with the truth and make them a present of my helpless, incompetent self. And so for the last two years I've been sticking it out in a hall bedroom, just west of the dead-line. I have a life membership in the club-what a Christmas present that has turned out to be!-and twice in the week I dine there. As for the rest of it, never mind-there are things which a man can do but of which he doesn't care to speak. The future? Ah, you can answer that question quite as well as I. Now I had calculated that, at my present rate of expenditure, I could hold out until Easter, but there have been contingencies. To illustrate, I had my pocket picked yesterday morning. Amusing-isn't it?-that it should have been my pocket-my pocket!