John Scofield

You see I worked for Arthur Fouche, he said,         Until the year before he died; I knew         That worthless son of his who lived with him,         Born when his mother was past bearing time,         So born a weakling. When he came from college         He married soon and came to mother's hearth,         And brought his bride. I heard the old man say:         "A man should have his own place when he marries,         Not settle in the family nest"; I heard         The old man offer him a place, or offer         To buy a place for him. This baby boy         Ran quick to mother, cried and asked to stay.         What happened then? What always happens. Soon         This son began to edge upon the father,         And take the reins a little, Arthur Fouche         Was growing old. And at the last the son         Controlled the bank account and ran the farms;         And Mrs. Fouche gave up her place at table         To daughter-in-law, no longer served or poured         The coffee - so you see how humble beggars         Become the masters, it is always so.         Now this I know: When this boy came from school         And brought his wife back to the family place,         Old Arthur Fouche had twenty thousand dollars         On saving in the bank, and lots of money         Loaned out on mortgages. But when he died         He owed two thousand dollars at the bank.         Where did the money go? Why, for ten years         When Arthur Fouche and son were partners, I         Saw what went on, and saw this boy buy cattle         When beef was high, sell cattle when it was low,         And lose each year a little. And I saw         This boy buy buggies, autos and machinery,         And lose the money trading. So it was,         This worthless boy had nothing in his head         To run a business, which used up the fortune         Of Arthur Fouche, and strangled Arthur Fouche,         As vines destroy an oak tree. Well, you know         When Arthur Fouche's will was opened up         They found this son was willed most everything -         It's always so. The children who go out,         And make their way get nothing, and the son         Who stays at home by mother gets the swag.         And so this son was willed the family place         And sold it to that chiropractor - left         For California to remake his life,         And died there, after wasting all his life,         His father's fortune, too.         So, now to show you         How age breaks down a mind and dulls a heart,         I'll tell you what I heard:          This Elenor Murray         Was eighteen, just from High School, and one day         She came to see her grandfather and talked.         The old man always said he loved her most         Of all the grandchildren, and Mrs. Fouche         Told me a dozen times she thought as much         Of Elenor Murray as she did of any         Child of her own. Too bad they didn't show         Their love for her.         I was in and out the room         Where Elenor Murray and her grandfather         Were talking on that day, was planing doors         That swelled and wouldn't close. There was no secret         About this talk of theirs that I could see,         And so I listened.             Elenor began:         "If you can help me, grandpa, just a little         I can go through the university.         I can teach school in summer and can save         A little money by denying self.         If you can let me have two hundred dollars,         When school begins each year, divide it up,         If you prefer, and give me half in the fall,         And half in March, perhaps, I can get through.         And when I finish I shall go to work         And pay you back, I want it as a loan,         And do not ask it for a gift." She sat,         And fingered at her dress while asking him,         And Arthur Fouche looked at her. Come to think         He was toward eighty then. At last he said:         "I wish I could do what you ask me, Elenor,         But there are several things. You see, my child,         I have been through this thing of educating         A family of children, lived my life         In that regard, and so have done my part.         I sent your mother to St. Mary's, sent         The rest of them wherever they desired.         And that's what every father owes his children.         And when he does it, he has done his duty.         I'm sorry that your father cannot help you,         And I would help you, though I've done my duty         By those to whom I owed it; but you see         Your uncle and myself are partners buying         And selling cattle, and the business lags.         We do not profit much, and all the money         I have in bank is needed for this business.         We buy the cattle, and we buy the corn,         Then we run short of corn; and now and then         I have to ask the bank to lend us money,         And give my note. Last month I borrowed money!"         And so the old man talked. And as I looked         I saw the tears run down her cheeks. She sat         And looked as if she didn't believe him.             No,         Why should she? For I do not understand         Why in a case like this, a man who's worth,         Say fifty thousand dollars couldn't spare         Two hundred dollars by the year. Let's see:         He might have bought less corn or cattle, gambled         On lucky sales of cattle - there's a way         To do a big thing when you have the eyes         To see how big it is; and as for me,         If money must be lost, I'd rather lose it         On Elenor Murray than on cattle. In fact,         That's where the money went, as I have said.         And Elenor Murray went away and earned         Two terms at college, and this worthless son         Ate up and spent the money. All of them,         The son and Arthur Fouche and Elenor Murray         Are gone to dust, now, like the garden things         That sprout up, fall and rot.         At times it seems         All waste to me, no matter what you do         For self or others, unless you think of turnips         Which can't be much to turnips, but are good         For us who raise them. Here's my story then,         Good wishes to you, Coroner Merival.         *        *        *        *        *         Coroner Merival heard that Gottlieb Gerald         Knew Elenor Murray and her family life;         And knew her love for music, how she tried         To play on the piano. On an evening         He went with Winthrop Marion to the place, -         Llewellyn George dropped in to hear, as well -         Where Gottlieb Gerald sold pianos - dreamed,         Read Kant at times, a scholar, but a failure,         His life a waste in business. Gottlieb Gerald         Spoke to them in these words: -