It was all a part of the idyl, the daydream, Robert Morton thought,—too flawless a thing to last. Willie, so childlike and simple, his kindly aunt, Delight with her rare beauty, and even the romance of his love seemed a part of its unreality. Was it not to be expected that sooner or later man with his blundering touch would destroy the loveliness, making prose of the poem? The Galbraiths, Snelling, the greed for money, Janoah's jealousy and evil suspicions—ah, it did not take long for such influences to mar the peace of a heaven and smear the grime of earth upon its fairness! Only glimpses of perfection were granted the dwellers of this planet,—quick, transient flashes that mirrored a future free from finite limitations. He who expected to remain on the heights in this world was doomed to disappointment.

Slowly he skirted the curving beach and reached the weathered cottage where the sun beat hotly down, kissing into flower every bud of the clinging roses that festooned its gray doorway. Willie welcomed him but a glory had passed from the old man's face since the conversation of the night before. How could it be otherwise? Sleepless hours had left behind them weary, careworn lines; and in the troubled depths of the blue eyes the old interrogation had once more awakened. Bob knew not how to meet its silent combat between hope and disappointment, and he hailed as a glad relief the beating echo of the Galbraiths' motor-car as it swept the horseshoe outline of the harbor and came to a stop before the gate.

Mr. Galbraith, who was alone, beckoned to him, and as the younger man climbed to the seat beside him said:

"I thought perhaps you might like to go for a spin along the shore. It is warm to-day and we shall get more breeze; besides, we can talk more freely in the automobile than here or at the Belleport house. Roger has just arrived and also Howard Snelling."

In spite of himself, Robert Morton betrayed his surprise.

"Mr. Snelling back again!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, he is down," was the laconic answer.

For all his boasted eagerness to talk, however, Richard Galbraith did not immediately avail himself of the privilege of conversation. On the contrary, as Bob shot a questioning glance toward him, he thought he detected for the first time in his life a strange uneasiness in the capitalist's habitually self-contained manner. He seemed to be framing an introduction for what he wished to say.

"I have several matters to talk over with you, Bob," he began at last in a resolute tone. "Some of them are pleasant and some of them may not, I fear, prove to be so. But we must take them as they come, and pleasant or unpleasant, I want you to believe that I have no choice but to place them before you. I have always felt for you a warm friendship, my boy, and that friendship has in no way lessened. Therefore if any word I speak causes you unhappiness, I want you to remember that I only say it because I must. We are not always permitted to readjust life according to our inclinations. Duty maps out many of our paths and we must close our lips and travel them."

He stopped as if considering how to proceed.

"While in New York," he presently resumed, "I probated Madam Lee's will. She was possessed of a large estate and knew very definitely what she wanted done with it. The will was made several years ago, and no document that I have ever seen was more specifically and conscientiously drawn up. Although she left jewels and heirlooms to my family, she left none of her other property to the Galbraiths, explaining that her daughter had all she needed and that both Cynthia and Roger had more already than was good for them." He smiled humorously. "I guessed pretty accurately what she intended to do, as some time ago we talked the matter over, and I heartily approved of her proposed bequest."

He cleared his throat and in wondering silence Robert Morton waited.

"The property was left in bulk to an old friend whom Madam Lee had known for years—some one entirely outside the family."

Bob did not speak.

"I would gladly see the Lee money administered as its owner desired to have it," Mr. Galbraith went on. "Her ideas were wise, kind, and just, and the fulfilment of her wishes would have brought to me—to us all—the greatest happiness. But since that will was made a new condition has arisen. Delight Hathaway, the child of her favorite daughter, has appeared. Had the old lady lived, I feel certain that in view of this fact she would have altered the document that this girl might inherit at least a portion of the fortune in which her mother never had any share. You knew Madam Lee very intimately, Bob—probably better than any of the rest of us. What do you think?"

The reply came without hesitation.

"I am certain Madam Lee would have seen to it that her granddaughter was provided for."

"So it seems to me," rejoined Mr. Galbraith with evident relief. "I am glad that our code of ethics agrees thus far. Now the question is, Bob, how strong are you for the right? If honorable action meant sacrifice, would you be ready to meet it?"

"I hope so," was the modest response.

"I know so," Mr. Galbraith declared earnestly, "and it is because I am so sure of it that I came to you to-day. Bob, it was to you that Madam Lee left her fortune. It was to be used for the furthering of your dearest wish because—to quote her own words—because I love the boy as if he were of my own blood."

As he listened, Robert Morton's eyes grew cloudy, and emotion choked his utterance until he could not speak.

Apparently Mr. Galbraith either expected no reply or tactfully interpreted his silence, for without waiting he continued:

"You can understand now, Bob, feeling toward you as we all do, that this recent family development has not been easy for us to confront. Delight Hathaway is a beautiful girl who possesses, no doubt, admirable qualities. We expect to become warmly attached to her in time. But for all her kinship she is a stranger to us while you are of our own—a brother, friend." For the first time the kind voice faltered. "I have even cherished a hope," it went on in a lower tone, "that perhaps in the future a closer bond might bind you to us. Nothing in the world would have given me greater satisfaction."

Bob suddenly felt the blood leap to his face in a crimson flood. He gasped out an incoherent word or two, hoping to check Mr. Galbraith's speech, but no intelligible phrases came to his tongue.

"Life is a strangely perverse game, isn't it?"' mused the capitalist. "We build our castles, build them not alone for ourselves but for others, and those we love shatter the structure we have so painstakingly reared and on its ruined site make for themselves castles of their own."

His eyes were fixed on the narrowing ribbon of sand over which the car sped.

"I—I—have another surprise for you, Bob," he said in a lower tone, without lifting his gaze from the reach of highway ahead. "Cynthia is to be married."

"Cynthia!" A chaos of emotions mingled in the word.

"Her engagement has been an overwhelming shock to her mother and me," the elder man continued steadily, still without shifting his eyes from the road over which he guided the car, "I don't know why the possibility never occurred to us; but it never did. She is to marry Howard Snelling."

A quick wave of revulsion swept over Robert Morton. This, then, was the reason Snelling had filched from Willie his invention,—that he might have greater riches to lay at the feet of his fiancee, and perhaps reach more nearly a financial equality with her family. He saw it all now. And probably it was Snelling's jealousy of himself that had led him to retaliate by heaping his unwelcome attentions on Delight. At last it was clear as day,—Cynthia's growing coldness and her continual trips to and from Belleport in the boatbuilder's company. Robert Morton could have laughed aloud at his own stupidity. The engagement explained, too, Mr. Snelling's confusion and embarrassment at every mention of the Galbraith family. Why, a child might have fathomed the romance!

Again Mr. Galbraith was speaking.

"And now, Bob, for the last surprise of all. At first, I thought I would delay telling you until the papers were all in shape and ready for signature; but on second thought it seemed a pity to shut you out of the fun. We have all the data prepared to take out a patent on Mr. Spence's motor-boat."

Bob felt a sudden sinking of his heart, a stifling of his breath.

"The afternoon you all came over to Belleport," explained the financier, "I got Snelling and a draughtsman from our company to go to the shop and in the old gentleman's absence secure measurements and the necessary information. These we took to New York and put into proper hands, and when the affidavits are sworn to and everything is in legal form I see no reason why the government should not grant the patent. If it does, there should be a little fortune in the appliance."

Robert Morton did not move. He felt as if he had been turned to stone.

"I thought you would be interested," observed Mr. Galbraith, a suggestion of disappointment in his voice. "I did not consult you at first because I felt so sure that the idea would please you. I'm sorry if it doesn't. It seemed to me that if we could help Mr. Spence to patent his device, he might do quite a little with it. I thought he might not know how to go at the matter himself. So we are preparing all the papers for him to file an application in his own name. Afterward I propose either to purchase from him the rights to use it, or to buy the thing outright at a reasonable figure. In either case, the deal will net him quite an income and place him beyond the possibility of financial worry so long as he lives."

Oh, the relief that surged over Robert Morton! Joy rioted with shame, happiness with self-reproach. How feeble his faith had been. He hoped Mr. Galbraith did not read in his eyes the suspicions he had cherished.

Apparently he did not, for in the same kindly manner he asked:

"Do you think it would be better to keep the secret from the little old chap a bit longer or tell him now?"

"Oh, tell him now! Tell him now!" cried Bob. "Tell him right away when we get back!"

His companion laughed at his eagerness and for the first time their eyes met.

"And now, sir," began Robert Morton, a ring of buoyancy and light-heartedness in his voice such as had not sounded in it for weeks, "I have a surprise for you. I, too, am going to be married."

The car swerved suddenly as if a tremor had passed through the hands on the wheel.

"I am engaged to your niece, Mr. Galbraith."

"To my—my niece!" repeated the great man blankly. "I don't think I quite—"

"To Delight Hathaway."

Bob saw a dull brick-red flush color the neck of the capitalist and steal up into his face. For a moment he seemed at a loss for words. Then presently, as if he had succeeded in readjusting his ideas, he ejaculated:

"My word, Bob! Well, you young people have mixed yourselves up nicely! However, if you all are happy, that is the main thing; you are the ones to be suited. We shall still have you in the family, anyway." He laughed. "And about the property," he went on thoughtfully,—"this simplifies matters greatly, for it won't make much difference now which of you has it—you or the girl."

But Bob stopped him with a quick protest.

"I don't want Delight to know Madam Lee's money has previously been willed to me," he said. "If she suspected that, she would never take it. You are not to tell her—promise me you will see to that."

"Of course I will arrange the affair any way you wish," Mr. Galbraith agreed, with a dubious frown. "But if you are to marry her, I really can't see what difference it would make."

"It will make a great deal of difference," declared the younger man. "In the one case the fortune will be hers to use as she pleases. She will have the independent right to hand it over to the Brewsters if she so desires. Our entire relation will be placed on another basis; for if I marry her under those conditions I marry an heiress, not the ward of a poor fisherman."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"On the other hand, if she refuses the money, it will be mine to lay at her feet. Can't you see what a vast contrast there will be in my position?"

Mr. Galbraith nodded thoughtfully as if considering the matter from a new angle.

"That's the only reason the fortune would mean anything to me—that I might have something to offer her," continued Robert Morton. "Of course, as you said, she would have the benefit of the money in either case; but it makes a difference whether it comes to her by the mere right of inheritance, or whether she takes it from her—husband."

"There is a distinction," admitted the elder man. "Now that you call my attention to it, I can see that readily. It is a delicate one, but its consequences are far-reaching. Well, you shall have your way! A proportion of the legacy shall be offered to Delight, and the secret regarding it shall be yours to keep or divulge as you see fit. You are a noble fellow, Bob. I only wish—" He checked the impulsive phrase that rose to his lips but not before the listener had caught its import.

"Mr. Snelling is a fine man, Mr. Galbraith," broke in Bob instantly, dreading the words that might follow.

"Oh, I know it—there is no question about that," the capitalist assented with haste. "Success is written all over his future, and I know he will be a son-in-law to be proud of. He and Cynthia are royally happy too, and no doubt know better than I what they want. After all, none of us can live other people's lives; each must work out his own."

"You've said it, Mr. Galbraith."

The financier smiled and his eyes twinkled beneath the shaggy brows that arched them.

"You will have to be getting used to calling me by another name, young man," he said. "Remember I am to be your uncle."



CHAPTER XXII

DELIGHT MAKES HER DECISION

Zenas Henry Brewster sat on the edge of his veranda, his long legs crossed before him with a certain angular grace and his corncob pipe held rigidly between his teeth. Beside him, ranged like sparrows on a telegraph wire, were Captain Phineas Taylor, Captain Jonas Baker, and Captain Benjamin Todd. From the row of pipes a miniature cloud of smoke ascended, but save for the distant pulsing of the sea and the murmur of the wind in the linden near the door not a sound was to be heard through the afternoon stillness. Yet in spite of the tranquillity of the day and the apparent peace of the four figures that gazed so immovably out upon the reach of blue, an electrical current of suspense was evident in the four tense forms. They were not looking at the bay, exquisite as it was in its cerulean beauty. Instead, the head of each man was turned toward the road that skirted the harbor and wound its way between the pines at the foot of the hill where the white cottage stood.

"He'd oughter be comin' pretty soon, hadn't he?" Captain Phineas ventured at last, unable longer to restrain his impatience. "He said four o'clock in his letter. It must be 'most that, don't you think?"

"Mighty nigh unto it," replied Captain Benjamin. "As I reckon it, havin' made the necessary allowances for my watch losin' three-an'-a-quarter minutes an hour, it should be about four now."

"It ain't but a quarter of four," sniffed Captain Jonas with an air of superiority. "That timepiece of yours, Benjamin, ain't worth the silver that was put into it. What's the use of havin' a watch that keeps you figgerin' backwards an' forards, an' doin' sums all day? I wouldn't be bothered with it."

Captain Benjamin bridled with indignation.

"I don't see but my watch is good as yours," retorted he. "The only difference is I'm addin' from mornin' 'til night while you're substractin'."

The discomfited Captain Baker frowned.

"Mine comes out even minutes, anyhow," announced he. "If it does shoot ahead some, it don't keep me reckonin' in fractions like yours does. I'd see myself in Davie Jones's locker 'fore I'd go addin' three-quarter minutes together from sunrise to sunset."

"Oh, addin' fractions is mighty good trainin' for Benjamin," put in the peace-loving Captain Phineas, with a chuckle. "It keeps his arithmetic brushed up. I'll bet you he could beat you at a sum, Jonas."

The triumphant Captain Benjamin observed a complacent silence.

"Let Benjamin an' his watch alone, Jonas," drawled Zenas Henry, speaking for the first time. "Somebody in the house has got to be up on mathematics, an' it may as well be Benjamin as another. I'm only sorry his ticker holds him just to addin'; if it would only make him multiply an' divide some, an' take him into square root 'twould give him a liberal all-round education. Still, there's always hopes it may take a new turn. The last time it went overboard there was indications that 'twouldn't be long before 'twould be leadin' him into algebra an' the fourth dimension."

Captain Benjamin grinned at the sally.

"It won't be goin' overboard no more now, Zenas Henry," responded he serenely, "'cause since the Sea Gull's got that eel-grass-proof contrivance hitched to her, there won't be no call for me to be lyin' head down'ards astern. I'll be settin' up like a Christian in future—all of us will. My soul, but Bob Morton an' Willie Spence did a good job on that boat! It's somethin' to have a young chap with brains like that marryin' into the family! I'll bet there's 'most nothin' on earth he couldn't tackle."

"You're right!" Captain Phineas chimed in. "If Delight's got to get married—an' we'd be a lot of selfish brutes not to want her to—she certainly has picked a promisin' husband. You can lose money—fling it away or have it stolen from you—but you can't lose brains."

"That's so, Phineas! That's so!" Zenas Henry said. "Besides, 'tain't as if he was takin' her to Indiana. New York ain't fur. Why, I'll stake a catch of mackerel we could fetch up at that Long Island place in the Sea Gull."

"Of course we could, Zenas Henry," agreed Captain Jonas, flashing a glance of affection into his friend's face. "There's no question about it. Take a good clear day an' the sea runnin' right, we could make it without a mite of trouble. Long Island wouldn't be anything of a cruise. No place that we can sail to in our own boat is fur away."

A listener of discrimination might have detected in the dialogue a note of assumed optimism and suspected that the four old men seated like images on the piazza rail were trying to buoy up one another's courage, and in the assumption he would not, perhaps, have been far wrong.

"What do you s'pose this Galbraith has up his sleeve, Zenas Henry, that he should be comin' over here?" Captain Benjamin Todd speculated, during a lapse in the conversation. "He has some scheme in mind, you can be sure of that."

"Why do you always go rootin' up evil like as if you was diggin' fur clams, Benjamin?" inquired Captain Phineas impatiently, "All Mr. Galbraith said was he wanted to see Zenas Henry. There surely is no harm in that. Delight bein' his niece, it's only to be expected he'd want to get sight of the folks she is livin' with. Most natural thing in the world, it seems to me. 'Twould be queerer if he didn't show no interest in the people who have brought her up."

"That's so, Phineas," Captain Jonas echoed. "Nothin's likelier than that he's comin' to sorter thank Zenas Henry."

"Thank us!" Zenas Henry burst out. "Thank us for bringin' up our own child! What business is it of his? Do we go traipsin' to Belleport to thank him for bein' good to his children?"

"No, no, Zenas Henry," Captain Phineas replied soothingly. "Of course he ain't comin' here to thank us. That would be plumb ridiculous. More probable he's comin' as I said, to make a friendly call since he's a relative."

But in spite of this reassurance, the ripple of misgiving had not entirely died away before the well-known touring-car with the New York financier in its tonneau made its appearance at the foot of the hill.

"He's comin', Zenas Henry!"

"There he is!"

"That's him!" was the excited comment.

But Zenas Henry maintained a grim silence. He had risen to his full height and now stood braced to meet an ordeal which he dreaded far more than he would have been willing to admit. His gaunt figure was stiff with resolution, his jaw set, his lips compressed. It was the same expression his countenance had worn the night he had gone forth into the storm to rescue the sinking crew of the Michleen from probable death; it was the expression his companions dreaded and feared,—the fighter ready for combat. Yet his antagonist, as he alighted from the motor-car and crossed the grass in leisurely fashion, appeared to be anything but a formidable adversary. He came toward Delight, who had hurried out to meet him, with easy friendliness, his hands extended and a smile of genuine affection on his face.

"I am glad to see you, my dear," he said, "—and in your own home, too. I fancy you must have thought me a great while in coming. I was detained in New York much longer than I expected; otherwise you would have seen me days ago."

She smiled up into the kindly gray eyes.

"And my, my, my! What a lot of mischief you and Bob have been getting into in my absence! You sly little puss! You may well blush. The bare idea of your springing a surprise like that on your new uncle! Bob has told me all about it," he suddenly became grave, "and I am very glad for you both. You could not have chosen a finer husband, little girl. Robert Morton is one man in a thousand. We'll talk more of him by and by. Just now I wish to meet all your family. You must present each one, so that I shall not get all these many captains confused."

How simply and naturally he bridged the awkwardness of the moment! Before they realized it, Abbie and the three veteran seafarers were chatting gaily with the visitor, and even Zenas Henry was venturing out of his reserve and unbending into geniality when the words "and now to business" chilled the warmth of his mood and sent him back into his shell, thrilling with vague forebodings.

With every eye fixed expectantly upon him, Mr. Galbraith took off his Panama and fanned himself.

"Now that we have put together a few of the links that bind our two families," he began, "and laid the foundation for a friendship which I hope the future will foster, there are a few intimate matters of which I wish to speak. First there is Bob Morton, and if you want any reassuring as to his character, I can give it to you. Your own wise and shrewd discrimination has led you to accept him at his face value and your estimate of him has not been a mistaken one. I do not think there is a young man in the world of greater sterling worth than the one your daughter has chosen for a husband."

At the firm emphasis on the word daughter, Zenas Henry's jaw relaxed.

"Of course, you feel the same anxiety for your child that I feel for mine, and realize how much a woman's happiness depends on the man into whose hands she puts her life. In giving up Cynthia I know what it means to you to give up Delight. We parents cannot expect to have all the joy and none of the suffering that comes with having children, however." He looked at Zenas Henry and a quiet sympathy passed from one man to the other. "But we should be selfish indeed were we to deny to those we love the best gift heaven has to bestow. It is making others happy in their way, not in ours, that tests our real affection for them. And so I know that underneath all your personal regrets you rejoice in the prospect of Delight's marriage as I rejoice in Cynthia's. We shall not always be in this world to safeguard our daughters. How much better to see their future in the protection of younger and stronger men than ourselves!"

"Yes, yes!" murmured Zenas Henry.

"And now I want to speak to Delight, although I am sure she will wish you to hear what I have to say to her. It is a matter of business about which she alone can decide. When Madam Lee, her grandmother, died, she left a large property in real estate and securities which she willed outright to an old friend of whom she was devotedly fond. She felt the Galbraiths were amply provided for and therefore, with the exception of certain jewels and heirlooms that were to be retained in the family, she bequeathed them nothing. We understood the motives that governed her in thus disposing of her property and were in full accord with them. The document, however, was drawn up before she knew of the existence of this other granddaughter, and in view of this fact, the person to whom the property is willed feels that it is only just that the whole or a part of it should be relinquished in Delight's favor."

There was an instant's pause.

"This the beneficiary does of his own accord, not alone as a matter of duty or as a matter of honor, but because his affection was so deep for Madam Lee that it is a pleasure to him to act as he thinks she would have desired. Had not her end come so suddenly, she would without doubt have made a new will and done this herself."

"You mean that without courts or lawyers askin' him to, this man just wants to hand over the money?" gasped Captain Jonas.

"Yes."

"Well, I dunno who he is, but I'll say this much for him—he's an honest cuss!" ejaculated the fisherman.

In spite of his earnestness Mr. Galbraith smiled.

Delight, however, had risen during the interval of silence and with nervously clasped hands had gone to Zenas Henry's side, where she now stood, her eyes large with thought.

Her uncle turned toward her.

"Well, my dear, what have you to say?" he asked.

"It is—is very kind of a stranger to be so noble, so generous," she declared gently. "He mustn't think that I do not appreciate it. But I couldn't take a cent of the money," she went on with quick decision. "Even had it been willed to me in the first place, it would have made no difference. I don't want to be unkind or to hurt anybody's feelings. But can't you see that Madam Lee was really nothing in my life? She came in and went out of it like a phantom, and she did not begin to mean to me what she did to this old friend of hers. Just because at the close of her days it was discovered that I was of her kin, it established no bond of affection between us—nothing but a legal claim. If she had lived and we had grown dear to one another, and she had given the fortune to me out of her heart, then I should have accepted it gladly. But to have it bestowed on me merely by right of succession—I couldn't think of touching a penny of it!"

She caught her breath, and her chin rose a trifle higher.

"And besides," she continued, "I would rather just be indebted to Zenas Henry and my own family. My grandmother was unjust to my parents, unkind. Although she lived to be sorry for it and would, doubtless, have done differently when she was older, she was harsh and cruel to them. I have forgiven but I never can forget it. I don't want the Lee money. Zenas Henry and the three captains give me all I need, and I have no fears but that in the future Bob can look out for me."

There was something in the proudly poised figure, so slender and erect, so firm and self-respecting in its calm decision, that roused every hearer's admiration and drew from the New York financier an involuntary homage. Nevertheless with a fear that impulse might have prompted the girl's verdict, he felt impelled to explain:

"But you are tossing away a large sum—thousands, child! You and your people would be rich."

"We don't want to be rich!" cried Delight, with quivering nostril. "Do we, Zenas Henry?" she slipped an arm about his neck as he collapsed into his seat on the piazza rail. "We are happy just as we are! You don't want me to take the Lee money, do you?" she asked, putting her cheek against his.

"No, honey, no! You shan't be beholden to any one but me," he answered. "I hoped you'd decide as you have. 'Twould take half the pleasure out of my life if it warn't us that was to do for you. Just the same, Mr. Galbraith, we thank you kindly for bringin' the offer, an' your friend for makin' it; an' though we refuse it, 'tain't done in no unfriendly spirit."

"I understand that," nodded the financier.

Nevertheless he gazed with no small amount of awe and respect at these poor fisherfolk who could so lightly fling aside a fortune.

"Mebbe," resumed Zenas Henry, "you'll tell this friend of Madam Lee's that we've took note of his squareness."

"Oh, yes, do tell him that it was splendid of him, splendid!" interrupted Delight.

"He's a gentleman, whoever he is," Captain Phineas added. "Tell him so from all of us."

"You might like to tell him so yourselves," returned Mr. Galbraith slowly.

"Eh?" Zenas Henry questioned. "Oh, we might write him, you mean. That's so. Likely it would be more decent. We'd be surer of his knowin' how we felt if 'twas put down in black an' white. What's his name?"

"Robert Morton."

"Robert Morton! Robert Mor—not our—not Bob!"

"Yes."

He saw Delight flush, and her eyes suddenly fill with tears.

"Bob!" she whispered half-aloud. "Bob!"

Zenas Henry drew her closer.

"What does the girl want with money," he demanded, "when she's got a man like that? He's better than all the money on earth."

"But she'll get the money just the same, Zenas Henry," piped Captain Jonas. "She'll get it. Have you thought of that?"

"It will be Bob's money, not mine," returned Delight with shy dignity.



CHAPTER XXIII

FAME COMES TO THE DREAMER OF DREAMS

Richard Galbraith returned thoughtfully over the Harbor Road not sorry at the turn affairs had taken. The honorable and magnanimous thing had been done with the Lee fortune, and it had been firmly and proudly refused. Now it could go unreservedly to Robert Morton for whom the financier had a particular regard and in whose wisdom to make a sensible use of it he felt every confidence. The money would not only place the young man in a position to marry without delay, but indirectly its benefits would reach the two individuals that Madam Lee would most earnestly have desired to help. Nor did the capitalist's regard for Delight, which had steadily been growing, decrease when viewed from this new angle. The Lees were a proud race and the girl came justly by the attribute. He was not sure, now that he reflected on the matter, but that he himself would have scorned the legacy in the same high-handed fashion. Nevertheless he had not expected this termination of the interview, had not expected it at all. His recently acquired relatives were proving themselves interesting persons. Who would have dreamed that a penniless fisherman's daughter would have tossed the Lee ducats back into his face?

He laughed to himself when he thought of the paradox. He had always admired spirit in a woman.

The car rolled on, flashing past swamps of swaying iris bedded deep in the salt marsh-grass, past tangles of fragrant honeysuckle and garlands of clinging clematis, and presently shot out into the sunny stretch of road that like a white ribbon bound the blue waters of the bay. When it reached the bluff where the sand mounted into green-capped dunes, patched in their hollows with shadows of violet, it slowed down and came to a stop before Willie Spence's weathered cottage.

The old inventor and Bob were seated idly on the workshop steps. No longer did the vibrant hammer and purring plane blend their metallic notes with the music of the surf. Their work was done, and until he was "kitched with a new idee" Willie had nothing to do but smoke beneath the shade of the grapevine and rambler rose and watch the vast reach of water to the line where it melted into the blue of the sky.

Since his interview with Mr. Galbraith, Robert Morton had had all he could do to keep from Willie the assurance that Janoah's accusations were false and that instead of misfortune good luck was winging its way toward the low gray house on the bay. Bob was a generous fellow and it added tenfold to his present happiness to know that joy was also coming to one toward whom he cherished an abiding affection. The secret, however, was Mr. Galbraith's, and until the New Yorker saw fit to impart it he must maintain silence. Therefore, with smiles wreathing his face and the wonderful story locked tightly in his possession, he tried to be patient until the final revelation should be made.

And now with the approach of the capitalist he knew that at last the great moment had arrived. The dream of years was to come true and the darling of Willie's brain, his greatest and most ambitious idea, was to be made a potent factor in the broad universe. So perfectly did he understand the quaint, half-shrinking inventor that he knew well no money, no fame, no praise could mean to him what this recognition would. Persons were to use the thing he had thought out,—to use it neither because of friendship nor interest, but because it was a practical, indispensable article which no mind had previously given to the world. In the days and weeks Bob had spent in the Spence cottage it was impossible not to read all this and more in the sensitive, hungering nature of the man who had worked beside him. Love and parenthood in its smaller and more specific sense had passed Willie Spence by, but in their place there had sprung into life a broader altruism and a larger creative impulse. The children his mind begot were as much of his blood and marrow as if they had actually been born of his own flesh; and to have one of them go victoriously forth into that moving current that reached so far beyond his own humble door would be like sending a child into battle. It transformed the father to one of the elect.

Surely, thought Robert Morton, great and unexpected issues had centered about his visit to Wilton. When confronted by the present unfoldings, who would have the temerity to boast that one's destinies were matters of chance?

"Well," called Mr. Galbraith as he came up the walk, "you two people look comfortable. Is there room on that doorstep for one more?"

"Certainly, sir! Certainly!" Willie replied. "But wouldn't you rather we heaved a box or something out of the shop for you to set on? You'll find these steps a good way down, I'm afraid."

"Not a bit of it," the New Yorker answered, dropping into the welcome shade of the trellis. "You have deserted the shop, I see. Does that mean your work is done?"

"Done an' delivered," smiled Willie. "We've discharged our cargo an' ain't took nothin' else aboard yet. We're just kinder ridin' at anchor."

"How did your friend, Mr. Brewster, like your handiwork?"

In spite of his native modesty Willie's bronzed face lighted with pride.

"Say, you'd oughter seen him!" exclaimed he, forgetting everything else in his pleasure. "He was struck clean abeam! He never suspected nothin' about it an' the surprise took him broadside. An' it works!" continued the little man with enthusiasm. "Yes, siree! It works! That cockleshell of a Sea Gull goes rippin' along through the eel grass, her propeller clear and free as if she had twenty fathoms of water under her. It's as pretty a sight as you'd care to look on."

Mr. Galbraith watched the shining eyes of the inventor.

"Mr. Spence," he said, "that idea of yours is going to be a very useful and valuable one. Have you thought of that?"

Willie flushed.

"Well," replied he with hesitation, "yesterday when I was shuckin' clams it did come to me that mebbe there'd be other folks besides Zenas Henry would like it."

"A great many folks!" rejoined the capitalist. "I am in a position to know, because shipbuilding chances to be my business."

"So I was told," his listener remarked quietly. An expression of quick surprise passed over the other's countenance.

"Yes," he went on, "both Mr. Snelling and I are interested in boats in our way."

"It's a fine job," Willie observed evasively.

"Yes, it is. Not only is shipbuilding a fascinating occupation but it is a patriotic one as well, for I believe the resurrection of our merchant marine to be one of the most important duties of our nation. Everything that works toward that end is a service to the country, in my estimation."

"You're right, sir," was the rejoinder. "I'm terrible fond of ships myself. They're human as people an' as different. You can turn 'em out from the same model, but no two of 'em will ever be alike. I've got a little yawl down on the shore I wouldn't take a thousand dollars for. She's knowin' as if she was alive. I can tell to an inch how much sail she'll stand an' how much water she'll draw. She answers to the tiller quick as a child to your voice, too—quicker'n most children. I've had her for years, an' smooth weather or foul she ain't never gone back on me. Folks disappoint you sometimes; but a boat never does." As if sensing that he was venturing on dangerous ground, he stopped abruptly. "So you build boats, do you?" he commented to change the subject.

Richard Galbraith nodded.

"That's my calling," he assented. "And since it is, I am in a position to handle things that have to do with boats of all kinds. That is why your motor-boat idea has interested me so deeply. I saw its possibilities from the moment I first laid eyes on it, and I wish to congratulate you on having given the public such a useful invention."

"It ain't got far toward the public," objected Willie, with a deprecating shrug of his shoulders.

"But it is going to," Mr. Galbraith declared with promptness. "Bob, Mr. Snelling and I have taken matters into our own hands and have ventured to have an application for a patent prepared—description, claims and all; and after you have sworn to the affidavit and affixed your signature, we will send it off to Washington, where I haven't a doubt it will be granted. I thought this would save you the bother of attending to it yourself."

Poor Willie was too amazed to speak.

"Now Galbraith and Company will want the monopoly of that patent, Mr. Spence," hurried on the financier. "We are going to make you a proposition either for the purchase of it outright, or for its use on a royalty basis."

With a supreme disregard for business, Willie wheeled on him before he could go further and said simply:

"Law, Mr. Galbraith, you can use the thing an' welcome. Turn out as many of 'em as you like. It won't make no odds to me. But the patent—think of havin' a real patent on somethin' I've thought out! Just you picture it!"

He repeated the words in a soft, musing voice that hushed his hearers into stillness.

"I never thought to live to see the day anything of mine would be patented. That means that nobody else anywhere in the world ever was kitched by that same idee before, don't it? It's sorter—sorter wonderful an' gratifyin'. But if it hadn't been for the rest of you that's helped me, the claptraption would never have been in any kind of shape. 'Twould 'a' been just a hit-or-miss contrivance like the rest of the idees I've got indoors. You see, I never had the schoolin' to manage my notions, even when once I'd got 'em. I know that well enough. So if I should get a patent on this thing, 'twould be mostly due to you that's helped me, an' I thank you most humble." His voice trembled with feeling. "After all you've done—the three of you—you wouldn't expect me to take money from you for usin' the scheme, would you? Take it an' welcome, an' may it bring luck to your business! But there's one thing I would like," he added timidly. "If we should get them patent papers from the government an' they ain't no particular use to you, I'd like to keep 'em by me to read over now an' again. 'Twould sorter make it all seem more real some way, an' less as if I'd dreamed it. I've imagined this happenin' so many times an' woke up to find 'twas only imaginin's."

The blue eyes softened into mistiness.

"To think of gettin' a patent! To think of it! Celestina will be glad. I'm afraid, by an' large, I've bothered her quite considerable with my strings, an' spools, an' tacks, an' such. She'll like to know some of 'em went for somethin', after all. The Brewsters an' Delight will be pleased, too. An' there's Janoah! Oh, Janoah must be told right away, Bob, quick's ever we can fetch it. 'Twill clear the air 'twixt him an' me, an' make us both happier. I ain't never been able to convince him that if you put your trust in folks they seldom betray it. Who knows but when he finds out what's happened he'll kitch that idee? If he should, 'twould be worth all the inventions and patents in the world put together. Look for the best, I say, an' you get it every time," continued the little old man, with a smile of exquisite serenity. "The universe is full of kindly souls with hearts a-beatin' inside 'em same's yours. Meet 'em with your hands out, an' their hands will come the other halfway."

"It is a pity you can't take out a patent on that notion, Mr. Spence, and sow it broadcast," returned the New Yorker soberly.

Willie's gaze traveled with wistful and reverent faith across the other's face to the sky above him.

"Somehow," he murmured, "I like to believe that idee was patented centuries ago by One who put it right to work by believin' the best of all us poor sinners. Folks ain't used the notion yet, much as they might, but they're gettin' round to, an' the day'll come when not to believe in the other feller's soul will be like—well, like havin' a motor-boat without our attachment," concluded he whimsically.

THE END