"I'm not sure whether it will be like that or not, but I know you've got a son as honest as the stars, and the honest man gets his own in the end." There was silence for some time, then the old man began walking up and down the room, softly, noiselessly.
"You talk sense," he said.

"I care for that boy, but I care for my life's work more.

Day in, day out, night in, night out, I've slaved for it, prayed for it, believed in it, and tried to make my wife and my boys feel as I do about it, and none of them cares as I care.

Look at Fabian--over with the enemy, fighting his own father; look at Carnac, out in the open, taking his own way." He paused.
"And your wife ?" asked Tarboe almost furtively, because it seemed to him that the old man was most unhappy in that particular field.
"She's been a good wife, but she don't care as I do for success and money." "Perhaps you never taught her," remarked Tarboe with silky irony.
"Taught her! What was there to teach?
She saw me working; she knew the life I had to live; she was lifted up with me.

I was giving her everything in me to give." "You mean money and a big house and servants and comfort," said Tarboe sardonically.
"Well, ain't that right ?" snapped the other.
"Yes, it's all right, but it don't always bring you what you want.