definite vision. But drivel and drool--very excellent words."

Mr. Thompson took a cigar and seated himself, expectant and happy.

"Boland, what did you come here for, anyhow?" demanded Ferdie
explosively. "Do you play tennis? Do you squire the girls? Do you take
a hand at bridge? Do you fish? Row? Swim? Motor? Golf? Booze? Not you!
Might as well have stayed in New York. Two weeks now you have perched oh
a porch--perched and sat, and nothing more. Dawdle and dream and foozle
over your musty old books. Yah! Highbrow!"

"Little do you wot; but I do more--ah, far more!--than perching on this
porch."

"What do you do? Mope and mowl? If so, mowl for us. I never saw anybody
mowl. Or does one hear people when they mowl?"

"Naturally it wouldn't occur to you--but I think. About things.
Mesopotamia. The spring-time of the world. Ur of the Chaldees.
Melchisedec. Arabia Felix. The Simple Life; and Why Men Leave Home."

"No go, Boland, old socks!" said Thompson. "Our young friend is right,
you know. You are not practical. You are booky. You are a dreamer. Get
into the game. Get busy! Get into business. Get a wad. Get! Found an
estate. Be somebody!"

"As for me, I go for a stroll. You give little Frankie a pain in his
feelings! For a crooked tuppence I'd get somebody to wire me to come
to New York at once.--Uttering these intrepid words the brave youth rose
gracefully and, without a glance at his detractors, sauntered