the university of hard knocks-第19章
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r would tell them； 〃Cut it short； he's busy！〃 before they could break any news to him today。
They hung a picture of Mr。 Lambert in the high school at the last alumni meeting。 They hung it on the wall near where the oleander stood that night。
Dull boy or girlyou with your eyes tear…dimmed sometimes because you do not seem to learn like some in your classes can you not get a bit of cheer from the story of Jim？
Hours pass； and still as I sat in that hotel room I was lost in that school picture and the twenty…one years。 There were fifty…four young people in that picture。 They had been shaken these years in the barrel； and now as I called the roll on them； most of them that I expected to go up had shaken down and some that I expected to stay down had shaken up。
Out of that fifty…four； one had gone to a pulpit； one had gone to Congress and one had gone to the penitentiary。 Some had gone to brilliant success and some had gone down to sad failure。 Some had found happiness and some had found unhappiness。 It seemed as tho almost every note on the keyboard of human possibility had been struck by the one school of fifty…four。
When that picture was taken the oldest was not more than eighteen； yet most of them seemed already to have decided their destinies。 The twenty…one years that followed had not changed their courses。
The only changes had come where God had come into a life to uplift it； or where Mammon had entered to pull it down。 And I saw better that the foolish dreams of success faded before the natural unfolding of talents； which is the real success。 I saw better that 〃the boy is father to the man。〃
The boy who skimmed over his work in school was skimming over his work as a man。 The boy who went to the bottom of things in school was going to the bottom of things in manhood。 Which had helped him to go to the top of things！
Jim Lambert had merely followed the call of talents unseen in him twenty…one years before。
The lazy boy became a 〃tired〃 man。 The industrious boy became an industrious man。 The sporty boy became a sporty man。 The domineering egotist boy became the domineering egotist man。
The boy who traded knives with me and beat mehow I used to envy him！ Why was it he could always get the better of me？ Well； he went on trading knives and getting the better of people。 Now； twenty…one years afterwards； he was doing time in the state penitentiary for forgery。 He was now called a bad man； when twenty…one years ago when he did the same things on a smaller scale they called him smart and bright。
The 〃perfectly lovely〃 boy who didn't mix with the other boys； who didn't whisper； who never got into trouble； who always had his hair combed； and said； 〃If you please；〃 used to hurt me。 He was the teacher's model boy。 All the mothers of the community used to say to their own reprobate offspring； 〃Why can't you be like Harry？ He'll be President of the United States some day； and you'll be in jail。〃 But Model Harry sat around all his life being a model。 I believe Mr。 Webster defines a model as a small imitation of the real thing。 Harry certainly was a successful model。 He became a seedy； sleepy； helpless relic at forty。 He was 〃perfectly lovely〃 because he hadn't the energy to be anything else。 It was the boys who had the hustle and the energy； who occasionally needed bumpingand who got itwho really grew。
I have said little about the girls of the school。 Fact was； at that age I didn't pay much attention to them。 I regarded them as in the way。 But I naturally thought of Clarice； our social pet of the classour real pretty girl who won the vase in the home paper beauty contest。 Clarice went right on remaining in the social spotlight； primping and flirting。 She outshone all the rest。 But it seemed like she was all out…shine and no in…shine。 She mistook popularity for success。 The boys voted for her； but did not marry her。 Most of the girls who shone with less social luster became the happy homemakers of the community。
But as I looked into the face of Jim Lambert in the picture； my heart warmed at the sight of another great successa sweet…faced irish lass who became an 〃old maid。〃 She had worked day by day all these years to support a home and care for her family。 She had kept her grace and sweetness thru it all； and the influence of her white； loving life radiated far。
The Boy I Had Envied
Frank was the boy I had envied。 He had everythinga fine home； a loving father； plenty of money； opportunity and a great career awaiting him。 And he was bright and lovable and talented。 Everybody said Frank would make his mark in the world and make the town proud of him。
I was the janitor of the schoolhouse。 Some of my classmates will never know how their thoughtless jeers and jokes wounded the sensitive； shabby boy who swept the floors； built the fires and carried in the coal。 After commencement my career seemed to end and the careers of Frank and the rest of them seemed to begin。 They were going off to college and going to do so many wonderful things。
But the week after commencement I had to go into a printing office； roll up my sleeves and go to work in the 〃devil's corner〃 to earn my daily bread。 Seemed like it took so much bread！
Many a time as I plugged at the 〃case〃 I would think of Frank and wonder why some people had all the good things and I had all the hard things。
How easy it is to see as you look backward。 But how hard it is to see when you look forward。
Twenty…one years afterward as I got off the train in the home town； I asked； 〃Where is he？〃 We went out to the cemetery； where I stood at a grave and read on the headstone； 〃Frank。〃
I had the story of a tragedythe tragedy of modern unpreparedness。 It was the story of the boy who had every opportunity； but who had all the struggle taken out of his life。 He never followed his career； never developed any strength。 He disappointed hopes； spent a fortune； broke his father's heart； shocked the community； and finally ended his wasted life with a bullet fired by his own hand。
Why Ben Hur Won
It revived the memory of the story of Ben Hur。
Do you remember it？ The Jewish boy is torn from his home in disgrace。 He is haled into court and tried for a crime he never committed。 Ben Hur did not get a fair trial。 Nobody can get a fair trial at the hands of this world。 That is why the great Judge has said； judge not； for you have not the full evidence in the case。 I alone have that。
Then they condemn him。 They lead him away to the galleys。 They chain him to the bench and to the oar。 There follow the days and long years when he pulls on the oar under the lash。 Day after day he pulls on the oar。 Day after day he writhes under the sting of the lash。 Years of the cruel injustice pass。 Ben Hur is the helpless victim of a mocking fate。
That seems to be your life and my life。 In the kitchen or the office； or wherever we work we seem so often like slaves bound to the oar and pulling under the sting of the lash of necessity。 Life seems one futureless round of drudgery。 We wonder why。 We often look across the street and see somebody who lives a happier life。 That one is chained to no oar。 See what a fine time they all have。 Why must we pull on the oar？
How blind we are！ We can only see our own oar。 We cannot see that they； too； pull on the oar and feel the lash。 Most likely they are looking back at us and envying us。 For while we envy others； others are envying us。
But look at the chariot race in Antioch。 See the thousands in the circus。 See Messala； the haughty Roman； and see！ Ben Hur from the galleys in the other chariot pitted against him。 Down the course dash these twin thunderbolts。 The thousands hold their breath。 〃Who will win？〃 〃The man with the stronger forearms；〃 they whisper。
There comes the crucial moment in the race。 See the man with the stronger forearms。 They are bands of steel that swell in the forearms of Ben Hur。 They swing those flying Arabians into the inner ring。 Ben Hur wins the race！ Where got the Jew those huge forearms？ From the galleys！
Had Ben Hur never pulled on the oar； he never could have won the chariot race。
Sooner or later you and I are to learn that Providence makes no mistakes in the bookke
