Spirit was gone out of
him, longing for the future had no place in his mind; in the world of
public work he was dead and buried. How little he had got from all his
life! How few friends he had, and how few he was entitled to have! This
is one of the punishments that selfishness and wrong-doing brings; it
gives no insurance for the hours of defeat and loss. Well, wealth and
power, the friends so needed in dark days, had not been made, and Barode
Barouche realized he had naught left. He had been too successful from the
start; he had had all his own way; and he had taken no pains to make or
keep friends. He well knew there was no man in the Cabinet or among his
colleagues that would stir to help him--he had stirred to help no man in
all the years he had served the public. It was no good only to serve the
public, for democracy is a weak stick on which to lean. One must stand by
individuals or there is no defence against the malicious foes that follow
the path of defeat, that ambush the way. It is the personal friends made
in one's own good days that watch the path and clear away the ambushers.
It is not big influential friends that are so important--the little
unknown man may be as useful as the big boss in the mill of life; and if
one stops to measure one's friends by their position, the end is no more
sure than if one makes no friends at all.
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