Part 26 (1/2)
Kalin looked up at Benson in a dazed way, and for a moment seemed to be unable to grasp the fact that he had been addressed.
”Benson,” he said at last, his eyes wandering dreamily about the room, ”is a man ever justified in committing suicide?”
Benson was startled, but he replied promptly and emphatically, ”Never.”
”Suppose,” Kalin went on, ”that your life intervened between those you love and happiness; suppose that your life meant misery and failure for them, while your death meant success and-and comfort.”
Benson drew up a chair and placed his hand on Kalin's arm as if to emphasize his words.
”_The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away_,” he quoted earnestly.
”Life is G.o.d's gift and should be treasured as such. You may not return it until He calls, unless you would doubt His wisdom.”
Kalin nodded his head thoughtfully.
”Men have gone to certain death for those they love and been glorified for so doing,” he argued.
”A man may _give_ his own life to save the life of another and be a hero,” returned Benson, ”but he may not _take_ his own life for any cause and be aught but a coward.”
”What matters it whether he takes it or gives it, so long as the purpose is the same?” asked Kalin.
Benson gripped the arm on which his hand lay and shook Kalin.
”Wake up!” he commanded sharply. ”What's the matter with you to-day?”
Kalin roused himself, as if from a dream, and laughed in a forced, dreary way.
”Nothing is the matter with me,” he replied. ”I must have been reading something that gave my thoughts a morbid turn. Still, your reasoning seems to be that of a man who never has been tested. Your view has been my view, but I can see how a man's views may change when he is confronted by the actual conditions concerning which he has previously only theorized. I don't think you're right.”
”It's a disagreeable subject, even for abstract consideration,” a.s.serted Benson. ”Let's drop it.”
”All right,” said Kalin. ”I'm going in to lunch.”
In the dining-room he got into an obscure corner and the waiter had to joggle his elbow to rouse him from the reverie into which he immediately fell. Then, after barely tasting the lunch he ordered, he went to the office of the club and asked that all charges against him be footed up.
”There's nothing against me at all now?” he said inquiringly as he paid the bill.
”Nothing at all, sir,” replied the clerk.
”I'd hate to leave any club debts,” he remarked, as if talking aloud to himself.
At his office he found his sons still gloomily discussing the situation.
”I think,” he said, ”that I have found a way to save the business.”
”How?” they asked eagerly.
”The details are not quite clear in my mind yet,” he replied. ”I would like to give them a little more thought before explaining the matter.
But, if I succeed in pulling you through, you boys must be mighty careful in the future. A concern doesn't get out of this kind of hole twice, and I'm going to turn it all over to you.”
”Why?” asked Albert in surprise.