ietly:

"What will you do about it?"

"I will make a name for myself," was the reply given, with sharp
decisiveness of tones, and a smile played around the corners of Leon's
mouth, as though the open assertion of his purpose was a victory half
won.

Oh, the springtime of our youth! The young man climbs to the top of
the first hill, and, gazing off into his future, sees so many roads
leading to fortune, that he hesitates only about the choice, not
deeming failure possible by any path. But, presently, when his chosen
way winds up the mountain-side, growing narrower and more difficult
with every setting sun, at length he realizes the difference between
expectation and fulfilment. But Leon was now on the top of his first
hill, and climbing mountains seemed so brave a task that he was eager
to begin. Therefore, he spoke boldly. Almost at once he met his first
check.

"You will make a name for yourself!" repeated Dr. Medjora. "How? Have
you decided?"

Leon felt at once confronted with the task which he had set himself.
Now, the truth was that he had decided upon his way in life; or,
rather, I should say he had chosen, and, having made his choice, he
considered that he had decided the matter permanently. Yet, the first
man who questioned him, caused him to doubt the wisdom of his choice,
to hesitate about speaking of it, and to feel diffident, so that he
did not answer promptly. Dr. Medjora watched him closely, and spoke
again.

"Ah, I see; you think of becoming an author."

"How did you know that?" asked Leon, quickly, very much perplexed to
find his secret guessed.

"Then it is a fact? You would not ask me how I know it, were it not
true. I will answer your question, though it is of slight consequence.
You are evidently a young man of strong will-power, and yet you became
awkwardly diffident when I asked you what path in life you had elected
to follow. I have observed that diffidence is closely allied to a
species of shame, and that both are invariable symptoms of budding
authorship. To one of your temperament, I should say that these
feelings would come only from two causes, secret authorship and love.
The latter being out of consideration, the former became a
self-evident fact."

"Dr. Medjora, you seem to be a logician, and I should think that you
might be a successful author yourself."

"I might be, but I am not. I could be, only I do not choose to be. But
we are speaking of yourself. If you wish to be a wr