After that, I shall be attorney-general for the state. Later I may be
governor, unless I become senator instead."

"Well," said I, cautiously, "you'll be so toned down by that time that
you might make a very good governor indeed."

"I couldn't very well make a worse one than some we've already had,"
said the boy sternly. There was something of the accusing dignity of a
young archangel about him. I caught a glimpse of that newer America
growing up about us--an America gone back to the older, truer,
unbuyable ideals of our fathers.

"I guess you'd better tell me good-by now, Padre," said he, presently.
"And bless me, please--it's a pretty custom. I won't see you again,
for you'll be saying mass when I'm running for my train. I'll go tell
John Flint good-by, too."

He went over and rapped on the window, through which we could see
Flint sitting at his table, his head bent over a book.

"Good-by, John Flint" said Laurence. "Good luck to you and your leggy
friends! When I come back you'll probably have mandibles, and you'll
greet me with a nip, in pure Bugese."

"Good-by," said John Flint, lifting his head. Then, with unwonted
feeling: "I'm horrible sorry you've got to go--I'll miss you something
fierce. You've been very kind--thank you."

"Mind you take care of the Padre," said the boy, waiving the thanks
with a smile. "Don't let him work too hard."

"Who, me?" Flint's voice took the knife-edge of sarcasm. "Oh, sure! It
don't need but one leg to keep up with a gent trying to run a
thirty-six hour a day job with one-man power, does it? Son, take it
from me, when a man's got the real, simonpure, no-imitation,
soulsaving bug in his bean, a forty-legged cyclone couldn't keep up
with him, much less a guy with one pedal short." He glared at me
indignantly. From the first it has been one of his vainest notions
that I am perversely working myself to death.

"There's nothing to be done with the Padre, then, I'm afraid," said
Laurence, chuckling.

"I _might_ soak him in the cyanide jar for ten minutes a day without
killing him," mused Mr. Flint. "But," disgustedly, "what'd be the use?
When he came to and found he'd been that long idle he'd die of
heart-failure." He pushed aside the window screen, and the two shook
hands heartily. Then the boy, wringing my hand again, walked away
without another word. I felt a bit desolate--there are times when I
could envy women their solace of tears--as if he figured in his
handsome you