y amount as speedily as possible."

"Fred, my boy, I regret that you take such low views of our noble
profession."

"Yes--as a profession it is noble. But not as a practice. _My_ regret is
that it invites and compels such low views."

"You will look at these things more--more mellowly when you are older."

"I doubt if I'll ever rise very high in the art of self-deception,"
replied Norman. "If I'd had any bent that way I'd not have got so far so
quickly."

It was a boastful remark--of a kind he, and other similar young men,
have the habit of making. But from him it did not sound boastful--simply
a frank and timely expression of an indisputable truth, which indeed it
was. Once more Mr. Lockyer sighed. "I see you are incorrigible," said
he.

"I have not acted without reflection," said Norman.

And Lockyer knew that to persist was simply to endanger his dignity.
"I am getting old," said he. "Indeed, I am old. I have gotten into the
habit of leaning on you, my boy. I can't consent to your going, hard
though you make it for us to keep you. I shall try to persuade our
colleagues to accept your terms."

Norman showed neither appreciation nor triumph. He merely bowed
slightly. And so the matter was settled. Instead of moving into the
suite of offices in the Mills Building on which he had taken an option,
young Norman remained where he had been toiling for twelve years.

After this specimen of Norman's quality, no one will be surprised to
learn that in figure he was one of those solidly built men of medium
height who look as if they were made to sustain and to deliver shocks,
to bear up easily under heavy burdens; or that his head thickly covered
with fairish hair, was hatchet-shaped with the helve or face suggesting
that while it could and would cleave any obstacle, it would wear a merry
if somewhat sardonic smile the while. No one had ever seen Norman angry,
though a few persevering offenders against what he regarded as his
rights had felt the results of swift and powerful action of the same
sort that is usually accompanied--and weakened--by outward show of
anger. Invariably good-humored, he was soon seen to be more dangerous
than the men of flaring temper. In most instances good humor of
thus unbreakable species issues from weakness, from a desire to
conciliate--usually with a view to plucking the more easily. Norman's
good humor arose from a sense of absolute security which in turn was the
product of confidence in