the people who knew Bartley when he was a boy. It is always as if they
were talking of someone I had never met. Really, Professor Wilson, it
would seem that he grew up among the strangest people. They usually say
that he has turned out very well, or remark that he always was a fine
fellow. I never know what reply to make."

Wilson chuckled and leaned back in his chair, shaking his left foot
gently. "I expect the fact is that we none of us knew him very well,
Mrs. Alexander. Though I will say for myself that I was always confident
he'd do something extraordinary."

Mrs. Alexander's shoulders gave a slight movement, suggestive of
impatience. "Oh, I should think that might have been a safe prediction.
Another cup, please?"

"Yes, thank you. But predicting, in the case of boys, is not so easy as
you might imagine, Mrs. Alexander. Some get a bad hurt early and lose
their courage; and some never get a fair wind. Bartley"--he dropped his
chin on the back of his long hand and looked at her admiringly--"Bartley
caught the wind early, and it has sung in his sails ever since."

Mrs. Alexander sat looking into the fire with intent preoccupation, and
Wilson studied her half-averted face. He liked the suggestion of stormy
possibilities in the proud curve of her lip and nostril. Without that,
he reflected, she would be too cold.

"I should like to know what he was really like when he was a boy. I
don't believe he remembers," she said suddenly. "Won't you smoke, Mr.
Wilson?"