"
Hopkins and I looked into each other's faces and smoked in silence for
ten minutes, then he turned to his secretary and, opening a drawer, took
out a couple of cases and opened them. They contained medals. Then he
opened a package of letters and selected one or two. We lighted fresh
cigars and Hopkins began his story.
"My father was a pretty well-to-do business man and I his only child. My
mother died when I was young. I managed to get through a grammar school
and went to college. I wanted to go on the road from the time I could
remember and had no ambition higher than to run a locomotive. That was
my ideal of life.
"My father opposed this very strenuously, and offered to let me go to
work if I'd select something decent--that's the way he put it. He used
to say, 'Try a brick-yard, you might own one some day, you'll never own
a railroad.' I had my choice, college or something decent,' and I took
the college, although I didn't like it.
"The summer before I came of age my father died suddenly and my college
life ended."
Here Hopkins fumbled around in his papers and selected one.
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