When Witherspoon came to dinner he said that he had consulted Brooks and that the resourceful manager knew of a possible opening.

The owner of the Star, a politician who had been foolish enough to suppose that with the control of an editorial page he could illumine his virtues and throw darkness over his faults, was willing to part with his experiment.  “I think that we can get it at a very reasonable figure,” said Witherspoon.  And after a moment’s silence he added:  “Brooks can pull you a good many advertisements in a quiet way, and possibly the thing may be made to turn oat all right.  But I tell you again that I am very much disappointed.  Your place is with me—­but we won’t talk about it.  How came you to take up that line of work?”

“I began by selling newspapers.”

Mrs. Witherspoon sighed, and the merchant asked:  “And did Andrew urge it?”

“Oh, no.  In fact I was a reporter before he knew anything about it.”

Witherspoon grunted.  “I should have thought,” said he, “that your uncle would have looked after you with more care.  Did you receive a regular course of training?” Henry looked at him.  “At school, I mean.”

“Yes, in an elementary way.  Afterward I studied in the public library.”

“A good school, but not cohesive,” Witherspoon replied.  “A thousand scraps of knowledge don’t make an education.”

“Father, you remember my uncle Harvey,” said Mrs. Witherspoon.

“Hum, yes, I remember him.”

“Well, his education did not prevent his having a thousand scraps of knowledge.”

“I should think not,” Witherspoon replied.  “No man’s knowledge interferes with his education.”

“My uncle Harvey knew nearly everything,” Mrs. Witherspoon went on.  “He could make a clock; and he was one of the best school teachers in the country.  I shouldn’t think that education consists in committing a few rules to memory.”

“No, Caroline, not in the committing of a thousand rules to memory, but without rule there is no complete education.”

“I shouldn’t think that there could be a complete education anyway,” she rejoined, in a tone which Henry knew was meant in defense of himself.

“Of course not,” said the merchant, and turning from the subject as from something that could interest him but little, he again took up the newspaper project.  “We’ll investigate that matter to-morrow, and if you are still determined to go into it, the sooner the better.  My own opinion is that you will soon get tired of it, in view of the better advantages that I urge upon you, for the worries of an experimental concern will serve to strengthen my proposal.”

“I am resolved that in the end it shall cost you nothing,” Henry replied.

“Hum, we’ll see about that.  But whatever you do, do it earnestly, for a failure in one line does not argue success in another direction.  In business it is well to beware of men who have failed.  They bring bad luck.  Without success there may be vanity, but there can be but little pride, little self-respect.”