driven wheels. This had been his vision, and he had made it reality.

From the place of a master mechanic, at four dollars a day, he had
followed his vision, until the world acknowledged him one of her
richest men, one of her greatest geniuses for organization. In ten
years, lifting himself by his boot straps, he had promoted himself
from earnings of twelve hundred dollars a year to twelve million
dollars a year. ... He interested Bonbright as a great adventurer.

To Hilda Lightener he was presented last. He had expected, hoped, to
be unfavorably impressed; he had known he would be ill at ease, and
that any attempts he made at conversation would be stiff and stilted.
... It was some moments after his presentation when he realized he
felt none of these unpleasant things. She had shaken hands with him
boyishly; her eyes had twinkled into his--and he was at his ease.
Afterward he studied over the thing, but could not comprehend it. ...
It had been as if he were encountering, after a separation, a friend
of years--not a girl friend, but a friend with no complications of
sex.

She was tall, nearly as tall as Bonbright, and she favored her
father. Not that the granite was there. She was not beautiful, not
even pretty--but you liked her looks. Bonbright liked her looks.

At table Bonbright was seated facing Hilda Lightener. His father at
once took charge of the conversation, giving the boy a breathing
space to collect and appraise his impressions. Presently Mr. Foote
said, impressively:

"This is an important day in our family, Lightener. My son entered