We would go on in silence for a space while he revised and restated that encounter. Then he would break out abruptly with some banal phrase.
“ The Battle of Life, George, my boy,” he would cry, or “Ups and Downs!”
He ignored or waived the poor little attempts I made to ascertain my own position. “That’s all right,” he would say; or, “Leave all that to me. I’LL look after them.” And he would drift away towards the philosophy and moral of the situation. What was I to do?
“ Never put all your resources into one chance, George; that’s the lesson I draw from this. Have forces in reserve. It was a hundred to one, George, that I was right—a hundred to one. I worked it out afterwards. And here we are spiked on the off-chance. If I’d have only kept back a little, I’d have had it on U.P. next d
