ars ago, but here
we are, two gentlemen of elegant appearance in a state of bustitude.
We can't ever tell what will happen at all, can we? Once I stood where
we're standing now, to say good-bye to a pretty girl--only it was in the
old station before this was built, and we called it the 'depot.' She'd
been visiting your mother, before Isabel was married, and I was wild
about her, and she admitted she didn't mind that. In fact, we decided we
couldn't live without each other, and we were to be married. But she had
to go abroad first with her father, and when we came to say good-bye
we knew we wouldn't see each other again for almost a year. I thought I
couldn't live through it--and she stood here crying. Well, I don't even
know where she lives now, or if she is living--and I only happen to
think of her sometimes when I'm here at the station waiting for a train.
If she ever thinks of me she probably imagines I'm still dancing in the
ballroom at the Amberson Mansion, and she probably thinks of the Mansion
as still beautiful--still the finest house in town. Life and money both
behave like loose quicksilver in a nest of cracks. And when they're gone
we can't tell where--or what the devil we did with 'em! But I believe
I'll say now--while there isn't much time left for either of us to get
embarrassed about it--I believe I'll say that I've always been fond of
you, Georgie, but I can't say that I always liked you. Sometimes I've
felt you were distinctly not an acquired taste. Until lately, one had to
be fond of you just naturally--this isn't very 'tactful,' of course--for
if he didn't, well, he wouldn't! We all spoiled you terribly when you
were a little boy and let you grow up en prince--and I must say you took
to it! But you've received a pretty heavy jolt, and I had enough of
your disposition, myself, at your age, to understand a little of what
cocksure youth has to go through inside when it finds that it can
make terrible mistakes. Poor old fellow! You get both kinds of jolts
together, spiritual and material--and you've taken them pretty quietly
and--well, with my train coming into the shed, you'll forgive me
for saying that there have been times when I thought you ought to be
hanged--but I've always been fond of you, and now I like you! And just
for a last word: there may be somebody else in this town who's always
felt about you like that--fond of you, I mean, no matter how much it
seemed you ought to be hanged. You might try-