Peter repeated this last sentence a number of times and seemed to enjoy
the prospect it conjured up. He saw Peter Stirling taking a fond
farewell of a certain lady. He saw him entering the arena and struggling
with the wild beasts, and of course conquering them. He saw the day when
his successes would enable him to set up his own fireside. He saw that
fireside made perfect by a pair of slate-colored eyes, which breakfast
opposite him, follow him as he starts for his work, and greet him on his
return. A pair of eyes to love when present, and think of when absent.
Heigho! How many firesides and homes have been built out of just such
materials!

From all this the fact can be gathered that Peter was really, despite
his calm, sober nature, no more sensible in love matters than are other
boys verging on twenty-one. He could not see that success in this love
would be his greatest misfortune. That he could not but be distracted
from his work. That he would almost certainly marry before he could well
afford it, and thus overweight himself in his battle for success. He
forgot prudence and common-sense, and that being what a lover usually
does, he can hardly be blamed for it.

Bump!

Down came the air-castle. Home, fireside, and the slate-colored eyes
dissolved into a wooden wharf. The dream was over.

"Bear a hand here with these lunch-baskets, chum," called Watts. "Make
yourself useful as well as ornamental."

And so Peter's solitary tramp ceased, and he was helping lunch-baskets