Everybodys Chance | Page 3

and dropped it into the
box. Then he took Luce's hand, placed it on his arm, whispered
something to the girl, which elicited a smile which Champ regarded
fixedly, although the longer he looked the whiter and more fixed it
became. Suddenly it appeared to him that old Pruffett was regarding
him intently, and as he did not care to be looked at closely at that
particular moment he abruptly left the hall and started homeward.
So Charley Wurring and Luce Grew had come to an understanding.
And Luce Grew was the one woman of Brundy whom Champney Bruff
had ever thought he could love. Could love? Had he not loved her for
years? He had not dared tell her so, for how could he? He was the
oldest member of his father's family; his mother was dead, his father
unfit for work; and the farm was one which required steady work and
rigid economy if it was to support all of Champ's brothers and sisters.
The farm would be better if he could clear and drain about twelve acres
of marshy woodland that belonged to it, and to clear that land had been
his special effort for two or three years; but after the usual farm routine
had been gone through with, even in winter, he could find time to chop
down only two or three trees a day, and after all the trees were gone
there would still be the stumps, and after the stumps the ditching. When

all this had been done, he would propose to Luce Grew, but now,
evidently, his chance or his duty, which to the lecturer had seemed to
mean the same thing, was the finishing of that clearing-- while Luce
Grew loved another man and would marry him.
He heard footsteps behind him, and in a moment old Pruffett joined
him with:
"Not a bad lecture, Champ?"
"Not for those who found their chances while the lecture was going
on," was the reply, in words that sounded as if each had been savagely
bitten off. There was a moment of silence before the old man said:
"I guess I know what you mean. I'm very sorry, too-- for you. Yet Luce
herself seemed to be happy; I suppose that's what you've longed to see
her? You'd have done anything to make her happy eh?"
"Yes; anything in my power."
"Good. Now's your chance."
"What on earth do you mean, Mr. Pruffett?"
"Merely what I say. If you loved her, not yourself, or loved her more
than you loved yourself, you can do a great deal to make her happy; far
more than Charley Wurring can."
"I wish I knew what you were trying to say, Mr. Pruffett."
"Do you? Then I'll try to make myself understood. Charley is a
well-meaning fellow, but nowhere near enough of a man to marry a girl
like that. Splendid girls sometimes accept a husband of that kind after
waiting a long time in vain for a better one; the range of choice in this
town is rather small, you know. Charley's much the best of his family;
indeed, he hasn't any bad habits of his own, and he has learned to hate
all that he might have inherited, but you know his fix; a father who has
drunk himself into incapacity for anything, and a mother who is utterly

discouraged and bad-tempered. Luce will have many occasions for
feeling sorry for her choice; and Charley will often have to feel
desperate, for what chance can he see, at present, of marrying and
supporting a wife?"
"Well!" exclaimed Champ, savagely.
"Well, you know what the lecturer said about chances? Yours is right at
hand-- right now. Why don't you put Charley into that wooded
marshland of yours, to clear it? Give him the wood in payment; you'd
not lose a cent by that. Get his father to help him, the weakest man has
enough romance in him to want to help his son to a good wife. Work is
the best cure for drunkenness, and the fellow daren't and can't drink
while his son is with him all the while. By doing this you would be
improving a chance to greatly benefit three people; such a chance
seldom comes to any one."
"And I would also help another man to marry the woman whom--"
"Whom you love? Well, for what do you love her? For her sake or for
your own?"
Champ remained silent; the old man went on:
"You don't seem to know. It's well, then, that you didn't chance to
marry her."
"Mr. Pruffett," exclaimed Champ-- he almost roared it-- "do you know
what you are saying? Are you human? Are you a man, like other men?"
"I am, my boy," replied the old man calmly. "I