I was not obliged to live this sort of life, but the
uneasy spirit of adventure held me. My father, from whom I had not
heard a word in two years, was a prominent manufacturer in a New
England village. The early death of my mother had left me to his care
when I was but ten years old, and we failed to understand each other,
drifting apart, until a final quarrel had sent me adrift. No doubt
this was more my fault than his, although he was so deeply immersed in
business that he failed utterly to understand the restless soul of a
boy. I was in my junior year at Princeton, when the final break came,
over an innocent youthful escapade, and, in my pride, I never even
returned home to explain, but disappeared, drifting inevitably into the
underworld, because of lack of training for anything better. This all
occurred four years previous, three of which had been passed in the
ranks, yet even now I was stubbornly resolved not to return
unsuccessful. Perhaps in this new adventure I should discover the key
with which to unlock the door of fortune.
I possessed a fairly decent suit of clothes, now pressed and cleaned
after the rough trip from the coast, and dressed as carefully as
possible in the dingy room of my boarding house. A glance into the
cracked mirror convinced me, that, however I might have otherwise
suffered from the years of hardship, I had not deteriorated physically.
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