"As I said, that 's the point. A human life the money of the world cannot
buy; nor can it redeem one which is misspent; nor can it make full and
complete and beautiful a life which is dwarfed and warped and ugly. How
about yourself? What is to be the effect of all these strange adventures
on your life--_your_ life, Joe? Are you going to pick yourself up to-morrow
and try it over again? or the next day? or the day after? Do you
understand? Why, Joe, do you think for one moment that I would place
against the best value of my son's life the paltry value of a safe? And
_can_ I say, until time has told me, whether this trip of yours could not
possibly have been better? Such an experience is as potent for evil as
for good. One dollar is exactly like another--there are many in the world:
but no Joe is like my Joe, nor can there be any others in the world to
take his place. Don't you see, Joe? Don't you understand?"
Mr. Bronson's voice broke slightly, and the next instant Joe was sobbing
as though his heart would break. He had never understood this father of
his before, and he knew now the pain he must have caused him, to say
nothing of his mother and sister. But the four stirring days he had
lived had given him a clearer view of the world and humanity, and he
had always possessed the power of putting his thoughts into speech; so
he spoke of these things and the lessons he had learned--the conclusions
he had drawn from his conversations with 'Frisco Kid, from his intercourse
with French Pete, from the graphic picture he retained of the _Reindeer_
and Red Nelson as they wallowed in the trough beneath him.
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