-just over on Tenth Street in the Perry House."

Grant grinned as he shook his head. "You're lost and gone forever, just
the same, Miss Clementine. In about three years I'll probably be that
'red-headed boss carpenter in the mine----let me see, what's his name?'"

"Oh, Grant," scoffed the girl. She saw that his heart was sadder than
his face.

She took courage and said: "Grant, you never can know how often I think
of you--how much I want you to win everything worth while in this world,
how much I want you to be happy--how I believe in you and--and--bet on
you, Grant--bet on you!"

Grant did not answer her. Presently he looked up and over the broad
valley below them. The sun behind the house was touching the limestone
ledge far across the valley with golden rays. The smoke from South
Harvey on their right was lighted also. The youth looked into the smoke.
Then he turned his eyes back from the glowing smoke and spoke.

"This is how I look at it. I don't mean you're any different from any
one else. What I was trying to say was that I'm the only one of our old
crowd in the High School you know that used to have parties and go
together in the old days--I'm the only one that's wearing overalls, and
my way is down there"; he nodded his head toward the mines and smelters
and factories in the valley.

"Look at these hands," he said, solemnly spreading out his wide,
muscular hands on his knees; showing one bruised blue-black finger nail.
The hands were flinty and hairy and brown, but they looked effective
with an intelligence almost apart from the body which they served.

"I'm cut out for work. It's all right. That's my job, and I'm proud of
it so far as that goes. I could get a place clerking if I wanted to, and
be in the dancing crowd in six months, and be out to the Van Dorns for
dinner in a year." He paused and looked into the distant valley and
cried. "But I tell you--my job is down there. And I'm not going to quit
them. God knows they're getting the rough end of it. If you knew," his
voice raised slightly and a petulant indignation tempered it. "If you
knew the gouging and pocket picking and meanness that is done by the
people up town to the people down there in the smoke, you'd be one of
those howling red-mouthed anarchists you read about."

The girl looked at him silently and at length asked: "For
instance--what's just one thing?"

"Well, for instance--in the mines where I work all the men come up grimy
and grea