immy has decided to
turn it down for a college education. And I'm wondering, Hunt, whether
Yale has anything to give him that will justify such a
sacrifice--anything that he couldn't obtain for himself, at much less
expense, without three years waste of time and opportunity. How does it
strike you, old man? What would you say, offhand, without weighing the
matter?"

What I wanted to say was, "Damn it all! I'm not here at this time of
night to interest myself in the elementary problems of Jimmy Kane!" In
fact, I did say it to myself, with considerable energy--only to stop at
the name, to stare at the boy before me, and to exclaim in a swift flash
of connection, "Great Scott! Are you _Susan's_ Jimmy?"

"'Susan's Jimmy'!" snorted Phil, with a peculiar grin. "Of course he's
Susan's Jimmy! I wondered how long it would take you!"

As for Susan's Jimmy, his expression was one of desolated amazement.
Either his host and his host's friend, or he himself--had gone suddenly
mad! The drop of his jaw was parentheses about a question mark. His blue
eyes piteously stared.

"I guess I'm not on, sir," he mumbled to Phil, blushing hotly.

He was really a most attractive youth, considering his origins. I eyed
him now shamelessly, and was forced to wonder that the wrong end of
Birch Street should have produced not only Susan--who would have proved
the phoenix of any environment--but this pleasant-faced,
confidence-inspiring boy, whose expression so oddly mingled simplicity,
energy, stubborn self-respect, and the cheerfulness of good health, an
unspoiled will, and a hopeful heart. He seemed at once too mature for
his years and too naive; concentration had already modelled his
forehead, but there was innocence in his eyes. Innocence--I can only
call it that. His eyes looked out at the world with the happiest candor;
and I found myself predicting of him what I had never yet predicted of
mortal woman or man: "He's capable of anything--but sophistication;
he'll get on, he'll arrive somewhere--but he will never change."

Phil, meanwhile, had eased his embarrassment with a friendly laugh.
"It's all right, Jimmy; we're not the lunatics we sound. Don't you
remember Bob Blake's kid on Birch Street?"

"Oh! Her?"

"Mr. Hunt became her guardian, you know, after----"

"Oh!" interrupted Jimmy, beaming on me. "You're the gentleman that----"

"Yes," I responded; "I'm the unbelievably fortunate man."

"She was a queer little kid," reflected Jim