He wisely went slowly and took the advice of such men as
McPherson and his uncle's old lawyer. He grew in time to enjoy the
position of trust as his duties multiplied, and he often wondered how
he could ever have despised the common lot of his fellows. He
deliberately, and from choice, set his personal tastes aside--time
enough for his reading and writing when he had toughened his mental
muscles, he thought. Lynda deplored this, but Truedale explained:
"You see, Lyn, when I began to carve the thing out--the play, you
know--I had no idea how to handle the tools; like many fools with a
touch of talent, I thought I could manage without preparation. I've
learned better. You cannot get a thing over to people unless you know
something of life--speak the language. I'm learning, and when I feel
that I cannot _help_ writing--I'll write."
"Good!" Lynda saw his point; "and now let's haunt the theatres--see the
machinery in running order. We'll find out what people want and _why_."
So they went to the theatre and read plays. Brace made the wholesome
third and their lives settled into calm enjoyment that was charming but
which sometimes--not often, but occasionally--made Lynda pause and
consider. It would not do--for Con--to fall into a pace that might
defeat his best good.
But this thought brought a deep crimson to the girl's cheeks.
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