I had reached the point where, like a
good many others, I felt the world owed me a living, and I was bound to
get it. I had toiled hard and faithfully for the Devil, and taken a
great many chances, and I never thought of that as work. And I got the
wages the Devil always pays--cuts, shot, prison: I was paid good and
plenty. Here I was up against another proposition--work--and I hated
it!
Irvine said, "You must have something to occupy your mind and time, for
you know the Devil finds mischief for idlers." I said I'd tackle
anything; I'd work all right. A few days later he told me he had a job
for me. "Good," I said. I wondered what kind of work it was. I knew it
was not a position of great trust, not a cashier in a bank; that would
have to come later on. Well, the job was tending a furnace--get up steam
at 5 A. M., do the chores, and make myself generally useful; wages
$12.00 per month and my breakfast!
I did not like this for a starter, and I told Mr. Irvine so, and he had
to do some tall talking. He finally got angry and said, "Ranney, you
started out to let God help you. Well, you know God helps the man that
helps himself.
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