bur muttered. Then he heard his mother's footsteps outside
in the hall and he hurried to put on his robe. Just in time he got his
head out of the way as the door swung inward.

"You look nice this morning," Mrs. Mook said. "Now hurry before your
breakfast gets cold."

He did look pretty good, Wilbur admitted to himself as he looked again
into the mirror. At twenty-five his skin was firm and healthy looking,
his body straight and neither too thin nor too fat. His reddish-brown
hair was free of dandruff, his blue eyes clear.

Only one thing wrong with the picture. He had the soul of a rabbit. He
was a coward. There was a tinge of desperation in his voice as he spoke
again to his image in the mirror:

"Every day in every way I am getting braver and braver."

Unfortunately it was not true and Wilbur Mook knew it. And the only
reason he was not growing more timid, Wilbur reflected miserably, was
that such a thing lay outside the realm of possibility.

What was even worse was the fact that everyone else knew it too. It
could not have been more evident had Wilbur carried a sign. The only
thing he could say was that his mother loved him anyway. Small
consolation.

"Read the paper on the streetcar," she said as she helped him into his
coat. "And don't run. You know it upsets your stomach when you've just
eaten breakfast."

His breakfast had consisted, as always, of orange juice, one poached egg
on toast and warm milk. Anything stronger than warm milk, Mrs. Mook had
discovered, disturbed Wilbur no end.

* * * * *

As he walked to the car Wilbur's mind went back over the dream. That was
the stuff! And one of these days he was going to make that dream come
true. Pete Bellows was going to find out a thing or two.

"Whyncha look where you're goin'?" a shrill voice demanded.

Wilbur stopped abruptly. In his trance-like state he had stepped on the
heel of a twelve-year-old boy bound for school. The boy was glaring at
him fiercely and Wilbur cringed.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," he said, knowing that his face was losing color.

"Yah!" the boy snarled. "Look where you're goin' and you won't have to
be sorry."

For a moment Wilbur feared the boy was going to hit him. Then a call
came from down the street as another school-bound lad hove into sight,
and the first one promptly forgot about Wilbur.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Wilbur crossed gingerly to the safety island
and waited for his car. Wh