es, ordinarily so hawklike in their
vision, blinded to the fact that what his son was he had to a great
extent made him, and if the product caused secret disappointment he had
no one to thank for it but himself. Instead his reasoning took the
bias that the younger man, having been given every opportunity, should
logically have increased the Galbraith force of character rather than
have diminished it, and very impatient was he that such had not proved
to be the case.

Robert Morton was much more akin to the Galbraith stock, the financier
argued. He had all the dog-like persistency, the fighter's love of the
game, the courage that will not admit defeat. Although he would not
have confessed it, Mr. Galbraith would have given half his fortune to
have interchanged the personalities of the two young men. Could Roger
have been blessed with Bob's attributes, the dream of his life would
have been fulfilled. Money was a potent slave. In the great man's
hands it had wrought a magician's marvels. But this miracle, alas, it
was powerless to accomplish. Roger was his son, his only son, whom he
adored with instinctive passion; for whom he coveted every good gift;
and in whose future the hopes of his life were bound up. Long since he
had abandoned expecting the impossible; he must take the boy as he was,
rejoicing that Heaven had sent him as good a one. Yet notwithstanding
this philosophy, Mr. Galbraith never saw the two young men together
that the envy he stifled did not awaken, and the question rise to his
lips:

"Why could I not have had such a son?"

The interrogation clamored now as he came up the walk to the doorway
where Robert Morton was standing.

"Well, my boy, I'm glad to see you," exclaimed he with heartiness.
"You are looking fit as a racer."

"And feeling so, Mr. Galbraith," smiled Bob. "You are looking well
yourself."

"Never was better in my life."

As he stood still, sweeping his keen gaze over his surroundings, a
telegraphic glance of greeting passed between the two classmates.

"How are you, old man?" said Roger.

"Bully, kipper. It's great to see you again," was the reply.

That was all, but they did not need more to assure each other of their
friendship.

"You have a wonderful location here, Bob," observed Mr. Galbraith who
had been studying the view. "I never saw anything finer. What a site
for a hotel!"

Robert Morton could not but smile at the characteristic comment of the
man of f