ice now, quoting a serious poet to fit a madcap
mood--and quoting him in such a voice! What were the words? He
remembered her mockingly exaggerated inflection:

"'O, it is _excellent_
To have a giant's strength; but it is _tyrannous_
To use it like a giant!'"

Well, from his flash-fire observation of her he should say that a man
might need a giant's strength to overcome her, if she chose to oppose
him, in any situation whatever. What a glorious task--to overcome
her--to teach that lovely, teasing voice gentler words--

He laughed again. Since he had left college he had not been so
interested in what was coming next--not even on the day he met Amelie
Penstoff in St. Petersburg--nor on the day, in Japan, when his friend
Rogers made an appointment with him to meet that little slant-eyed girl,
half Japanese, half French, and whole minx--the beauty!--he could not
even recall her name at this moment--with whom he had had an absorbing
experience he should be quite unwilling to repeat. And now, here was a
girl--a very different sort of girl--who interested him more than any of
them. He wondered what was her name. Whatever it was, he would know it
soon--call her by it--soon.

He went home. He did not tell his grandfather that night. There was not
much use in putting it off, but--somehow--he preferred to wait till
morning. Business sounds more like business--in the morning.

* * * * *

The first result of his telling his grandfather in the morning was a
note from old Matthew Kendrick to old Judge Gray. The note, which almost
chuckled aloud, was as follows:

MY DEAR CALVIN GRAY: Work him--work the rascal hard! He's a lazy chap
with a way with him which plays the deuce with my foolish old heart. I
could make my own son work, and did; but this son of his--that seems to
be another matter. Yet I know well enough the dangers of idleness--know
them so well that I'm tickled to death at the mere thought of his
putting in his time at any useful task. He did well enough in college;
there are brains there unquestionably. I didn't object seriously to his
travelling--for a time--after his graduation; but that sort of life has
gone on long enough, and when I talk to him of settling down at some
steady job it's always "after one more voyage." I don't yet understand
what has given him the impulse--whim--caprice--I don't venture to give
it any stronger name--to accept this literary task from you. He vows
he'