"Why, you can't be thinking of leaving us! Why, we expect to
make a big man of you, Wrenn. I was joking about firing you.
You ought to know that, after the talk we had at Mouquin's the
other night. You can't be thinking of leaving us! There's no
end of possibilities here."

"Sorry," said the dogged soldier of dreams.

"Why--" wailed that hurt and astonished victim of ingratitude,
Mr. Guilfogle.

"I'll leave the middle of June. That's plenty of notice,"
chirruped Mr. Wrenn.

At five that evening Mr. Wrenn dashed up to the Brass-button Man
at his station before the Nickelorion, crying:

"Say! You come from Ireland, don't you?"

"Now what would you think? Me--oh no; I'm a Chinaman from Oshkosh!"

"No, honest, straight, tell me. I've got a chance to travel.
What d'yuh think of that? Ain't it great! And I'm going right
away. What I wanted to ask you was, what's the best place in
Ireland to see?"

"Donegal, o' course. I was born there."

Hauling from his pocket a pencil and a worn envelope, Mr. Wrenn
joyously added the new point of interest to a list ranging from