There is no place in God's universe for a quitter." "You are right, dad," said Barry.

"Good-night." He kissed his father, as he had ever done since his earliest infancy.
Their prayers were said in private, the son, clergyman though he was, could never bring himself to offer to lead the devotions of him at whose knee he had kneeled every night of his life, as a boy, for his evening prayer.
"Good-night, boy," said his father, holding him by the hand for a moment or so.

"We do not know what is before us, defeat, loss, suffering.

That part is not in our hands altogether, but the shame of the quitter never need, and never shall be ours." The little man stepped into his bedroom with his shoulders squared and his head erect.
"By Jove! He's no quitter," said his son to himself, as his eyes followed him.

"When he quits he'll be dead.