e key thrown away. 'Ivory tower'--do
you understand what that means?"

"No," I said. But of course I understand now.

III

As a consequence of my call at Johnny McComas's office (or as a probable
consequence), I received, some six months later, an invitation to his
wedding. You will expect to hear that I was present, and perhaps acted
as usher, or even as best man. Nothing of the sort was the case,
however; I was absent at the time in the East. Nor are you to imagine me
as continually following, at close range, the vicissitudes, major and
minor, which made up his life, or made up Raymond's. An exact, perpetual
attendance of fifty years is completely out of the question. Don't
expect it.

Johnny married, I was told, a young woman living in his own suburb, the
daughter of a manufacturer of some means. I met him about two months
after his great step. He was still full of the new life, and full of the
new wife.

"She's fine!" he declared. "Not too fine, but fine enough for me."

He cocked his hat to one side.

"Do you know, I talk to her just as I would to a man."

"Johnny!" I began, almost gasping.

"Well, what's wrong? Ever said anything much out of the way to you? Ever
heard me say anything to any other fellow?"

"Why, no...." I was obliged to acknowledge.

"Then why the row? It's all easy as an old shoe. _She_ likes it."

"I know. But--talking with a woman ... It isn't quite like...."

"Don't make any mistake. Just have the big things right, and they'll
overlook lots of the little ones."

"H'm," I said doubtfully. "I supposed it was just the other way. Lay a
lot of stress on certain little things, and larger shortcomings won't
bother them. Bring her a bunch of flowers to-day, and she'll help you
deed away the house and lot to-morrow."

"Fudge!" said Johnny. "I mean the really big things. There's only two.
Ground to stand on and air to breathe."

"That is to say...?"

"A platform under her feet and an atmosphere about her. Well, she's got
me to stand on and to surround her. She understands it. She likes it.
Nothing else matters much."

"Ah!" said I.

"I'm her bedrock, and I'm her--How do they say it? I'm her--envelopment,
as those painting fellows put it."

"See here, Johnny," I protested; "Don't get anachronistic. We are only
in 1884. That expression won't reach America for ten or fifteen years.
Have some regard for dates."

"It won't? Wasn't it in your friend's letter?"

"What friend?"