She's lucky. `One' "--Fenneben glanced more closely at the letter--"
`is her self-will.' I never knew a Wream that didn't have that fault.
`And the other' "--the frown drove back the smile now--" `is her
notion of wealth. Nobody but a rich man could ever win her hand.'
She who has been simply reared, with all the Wream creed that higher
education is the final end of man, is set with a Wream-like firmness
in her hatred of poverty, her eagerness for riches and luxury.
And to add to all this responsibility he must send me his pet Greek scholar,
Vincent Burgess, to try out as a professor in Sunrise. A Burgess,
of all men in the world, to be sent to me! Of course this young
man knows nothing of my affairs but is my brother too old and too
scholarly to remember what I've tried a thousand times to forget?
I thought the old wound had healed by this time."

A wave of sadness swept the strong man's face. "I've asked Burgess to come
up at three. I must find out what material is sent here for my shaping.
It is a president's business to shape well, and I must do my best,
God help me!"

A shadow darkened Lloyd Fenneben's face, and his black eyes
held a strange light. He stared vacantly at the landscape
until he suddenly noted the slender wavering pillar of smoke
beyond the Walnut.

"There are no houses in those glens and hidden places," he thought.
"I wonder what fire is under that smoke on a day like this.
It is a far cry from the top of this ridge to the bottom of that
half-tamed region down there. One may see into three counties here,
but it is rough traveling across the river by day, and worse by night."