He was standing
with his back to the fireplace, talking to Mrs. Lapham,
and he had been shedding tears; dry tears they seemed,
and they had left a sort of sandy, glistening trace
on his cheeks. Apparently he was not ashamed of them,
for the expression with which he met Lapham was that
of a man making a desperate appeal in his own cause,
which was identical with that of humanity, if not that
of justice.
"I some expected," began Rogers, "to find you here----"
"No, you didn't," interrupted Lapham; "you wanted to come
here and make a poor mouth to Mrs. Lapham before I got home."
"I knew that Mrs. Lapham would know what was going on,"
said Rogers more candidly, but not more virtuously,
for that he could not, "and I wished her to understand
a point that I hadn't put to you at the hotel,
and that I want you should consider. And I want you
should consider me a little in this business too;
you're not the only one that's concerned, I tell you,
and I've been telling Mrs. Lapham that it's my one chance;
that if you don't meet me on it, my wife and children will
be reduced to beggary."
"So will mine," said Lapham, "or the next thing to it."
"Well, then, I want you to give me this chance to get
on my feet again. You've no right to deprive me of it;
it's unchristian. In our dealings with each other we should
be guided by the Golden Rule, as I was saying to Mrs.
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