But Thorby did not see them. He was thinking.
A person can’t run out on responsibility. A captain can’t, a chief officer can’t. But he did not see how, if he went on this way, he would ever be able to join Pop’s corps. But Jim was right; here was a place where the filthy business had to be fought, too.
Even if he didn’t like this way to tight it? Yes. Colonel Brisby had once said, about Pop: “It means being so devoted to freedom that you are willing to give up your own . . . be a beggar . . . or a slave . . . or die — that freedom may live.”
Yes, Pop, but I don’t know how to do this job. I’d do it . . . I’m trying to do it. But I’m just fumbling. I don’t have any talent for it
Pop answered, “Nonsense! You can learn to do anything if you apply yourself. You’re going to learn if I haw to beat your silly head in!”
Somewhere behind Pop Grandmother was nodding agreement and looking stern. Thorby nodded back at her. “Yes, Grandmother. Okay, Pop. I’ll try.”
“You’ll do more than try!”
“I’ll do it. Pop.”
“Now eat your dinner.”
Obediently Thorby reached for his spoon, then noticed that it was a sandwich instead of a bowl of stew. Garsch said, “What are you muttering about?”
“Nothing. I just made up my mind.”
“Give your mind a rest and use your eyes instead. There’s a time and place for everything.”
“You’re right, Jim.”
“Goodnight, son,” the old beggar whispered. “Good dreams . . . and good luck!”
= END =