paused.

"But what?"

"But lots of things. But you're only just eighteen, and I'm
nearly twenty."

"Nonsense!" he interrupted. "Put it this way--that I'm in my
nineteenth year and you're nineteen. That makes us pretty
close--without counting that other ten thousand years I
mentioned."

Marcia laughed.

"But there are some more 'buts.' Your people---

"My people!" exclaimed the prodigy ferociously. "My people tried
to make a monstrosity out of me." His face grew quite crimson at
the enormity of what he was going to say. "My people can go way
back and sit down!"

"My heavens!" cried Marcia in alarm. "All that? On tacks, I
suppose."

"Tacks--yes," he agreed wildly--"on anything. The more I think of
how they allowed me to become a little dried-up mummy---"

"What makes you thank you're that?" asked Marcia quietly--"me?"

"Yes. Every person I've met on the streets since I met you has