lence. Dodge eyed him with a curious, new-born commiseration. The boy's
self-abasement, his misery, his flouting of his own weakness were not
altogether the result of maudlin reaction. He presented a combination of
manliness and effectiveness that perplexed and irritated Simeon Dodge. He
did not want to feel sorry for him and yet he could not help doing so.
George's broad shoulders and splendid chest were heaving under the strain
of a genuine, real emotion. Drink was not responsible for his present
estimate of himself; it had merely opened the gates to expression.

Simmy's scrutiny took in the fine, powerful body of this incompetent
giant,--for he was a giant to Simmy,--and out of his appraisal grew a fresh
complaint against the Force that fashions men with such cruel
inconsistency. What would not he perform if he were fashioned like this
splendid being? Why had God given to George Tresslyn all this strength and
beauty, to waste and abuse, when He might have divided His gifts with a
kindlier hand? To what heights of attainment in all the enterprises of man
would not he have mounted if Nature had but given to him the shell that
George Tresslyn occupied? And why should Nature have put an incompetent,
useless dweller into such a splendid house when he would have got on just
as well or better perhaps in an insignificant body like his own?
Proportions were wrong, outrageously wrong, grieved Simmy as he studied
the man who despised the strength God had given him. And down in his
honest, despairing soul, Simmy Dodge was saying to himself that he would
cheerfully give all of his wealth, all of his intelligence, all of his
prospects, in exchange for a physical body like George Tresslyn's. He
would court poverty for the privilege of enjoying other triumphs along the
road to happiness.

"Why don't you say something?" demanded George, suddenly looking up. "Call
me whatever you please, Simmy; I'll not resent it. Hang it all, I'll let
you kick me if you want to. Wouldn't you like to, Simmy?"

"Lord love you, no, my boy," cried the other, reaching out and laying a
hand on George's shoulder. "See here, George, there's a great deal more to
you than you suspect. You've got everything that a man ought to have
except one thing, and you can get that if you make up your mind to go
after it."

"What's that?" said George, vaguely interested.

"Independence," said Simmy. "Do you know what I'd do if I had that body
and brain of yours?"

"Y