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Connor, Ralph, Pseudonym, 1860-1937

"The Sky Pilot in No Man's Land"


"I feel fine, now, dad, and ready for anything," said Barry, glowing
with his exercise and his tub. "I was feeling like a quitter. I guess
that asthma got at my nerve. But I believe I will see it through some
way."
"Yes?" said his father, and waited.
"Yes. They were talking blue ruin in there to-night. Finances are
behind, congregation is running down, therefore the preacher is a
failure."
"Well, lad, remember this," said his father, "never let your liver
decide any course of action for you. Some good stiff work, a turn
with the gloves, for instance, is the best preparation I know for any
important decision. A man cannot decide wisely when he feels grubby.
Your asthma this afternoon is a symptom of liver."
"It is humiliating to a creature endowed with conscience and intellect
to discover how small a part these play at times in his decisions.
The ancients were not far wrong who made the liver the seat of the
emotions."
"Well," said his father, "it is a good thing to remember that most of
our bad hours come from our livers.


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