laining what one wants is always
annoying."

"Exactly. My business is to guess what you would like and carry it out
as far as I can. When I'm right this saves you some trouble and gives me
keen satisfaction. It makes me think I am intelligent."

"Our boys are a pretty good sample, but they don't talk like that. I
suppose you learned it in the Old Country. You know, you're very
English, in some respects."

"Well," said Foster, "that is really not my fault. I was born English,
but I'll admit that I've found it a drawback since I came to Canada."

Carmen indicated the chair next her. "You may sit down if you like. You
start for the Old Country on Thursday, don't you?"

"Thank you; yes," said Foster. "One likes to be in the fashion, and it's
quite the proper thing to make the trip when work's finished for the
winter. You find miners saving their wages to buy a ticket, and the
Manitoba men sail across by dozens after a good harvest. As they often
maintain that the Old Country's a back number, one wonders why they go."

"After all, I suppose they were born there."

"That doesn't seem to count. As a rule, there's nobody more Canadian
first of all than the man who's only a Canadian by adoption."

"Then why do you want to go?"

"I can't tell you. I had a hard life in England and, on the whole, was
glad to get away. Perhaps it's a homing instinct, like the pigeon's, and
perhaps it's sentiment. We came out because nobody wanted us and have
made ourselves pretty comfortable. America's our model and we have no
use for English patronage, but every now and then the pull comes and we
long to go back, though we wouldn't like to stop there. It's illogical,
but if there was trouble in Europe and the Old Country needed help, we'd
all go across."

"In a mild way, the journey's something of an adventure," Carmen
suggested. "Doesn't that appeal to a man?"

"It does," Foster agreed. "One might imagine that there was enough
adventure here, but it really isn't so. The lone trail has a mineral
claim at the end of it; you look forward to the elevator company's
receipt when you break the new furrow. Hardship gets as monotonous as
comfort; you want something fresh, a job, in fact, that you don't
undertake for money. Of course, if you look at it economically, this is
foolish."

"I like you better as a sentimentalist than a philosopher," Carmen
answered. "It's the former one goes to when one wants things done.
How