When  my  father  died  I  prayed  all  night,  just  as  I
did  sometimes  when  my  brother  was  in  town  drink-
ing and  going  about  buying  the  things  for  us.  In
the  evening  after  supper  I  knelt  by  the  table  where
the  money  lay  and  prayed  for  hours.  When  no
one  was  looking  I  stole  a  dollar  or  two  and  put  it
in  my  pocket.  That  makes  me  laugh  now  but
then  it  was  terrible.  It  was  on  my  mind  all  the
time.  I  got  six  dollars  a  week  from  my  job  on
the  paper  and  always  took  it  straight  home  to
mother.  The  few  dollars  I  stole  from  my
brother's  pile  I  spent  on  myself,  you  know,  for
trifles,  candy  and  cigarettes  and  such  things.
THE    PHILOSOPHER  45

"When  my  father  died  at  the  asylum  over  at
Dayton,  I  went  over  there.  I  borrowed  some
money  from  the  man  for  whom  I  worked  and  went
on  the  train  at  night.  It  was  raining.  In  the
asylum  they  treated  me  as  though  I  were  a
king.
"The  men  who  had  jobs  in  the  asylum  had
found  out  I  was  a  newspaper  reporter.  That
made  them  afraid.  There  had  been  some  negli-
gence, some  carelessness,  you  see,  when  father  was
ill.  They  thought  perhaps  I  would  write  it  up  in
the  paper  and  make  a  fuss.  I  never  intended  to
do  anything  of  the  kind.
"Anyway,  in  I  went  to  the  room  where  my
father  lay  dead  and  blessed  the  dead  body.  I
wonder  what  put  that  notion  into  my  head.
