a soldier once," he went on dreamily, "just a private. A good chap. He
was a soldier because he was born and bred in the midst of a
regiment, but his one passion was music. He taught himself a little
instead of learning his drill. In the end he deserted and joined a
German band. That argues nothing for his musical taste, you say. He
just thought it a stepping-stone, but it was a tombstone. He was quite
a smart soldier, too."

"Well, I think it was jolly hard lines on him to have to be a soldier
at all, if he didn't like it. He wanted a Caesar to help him out. I
think all fellows ought to have a chance, there should be someone or
something to say, 'what do you want to be?'"

"You'd be surprised how few could answer. Prove your point yourself
anyway, my dear boy. Succeed."

"I mean to," said Christopher with shut teeth and an intonation that
reminded both men of Peter Masters himself.

"We are all of us Roadmakers of one kind or another," went on Mr.
Aston meditatively, "making the way rougher or smoother for those who
come after us. Happy if we only succeed in rolling in a few of the
stones that hurt our own feet."

"You _are_ rather like a steam roller," remarked Aymer quietly, "it
hadn't struck me before."

Mr. Aston rumpled his hair distractedly and Christopher giggled.

"I wasn't talking of myself at all," said Mr. Aston hastily. "I was
merely thinking of you making things smooth for Christopher. You are
much more like a steam roller than I am. You are bigger."

Christopher began to laugh helplessly, and Aymer protested rather
indignantly.

"I deny the likeness. But if rolling has to be done, it is better to
do it heavily, I suppose. Whose roads shall we roll, Christopher?"

Christopher looked up, suddenly grave.

"What do you mean, Caesar?"

"You say everyone should have a chance and my father insists we are
bound by some unknown Board of Guardians to level our neighbours'
roads, so where will you start?"

"On Sam Sartin!"

He sat upright, his face glowing, looking straight at Caesar. Caesar's
tone might be flippant, but if he meant what Christopher supposed him
to mean, he must not let the golden opportunity slip.

"I thought Sam was in a greengrocer's shop," said Caesar in a drawling,
indifferent manner.

"So he is. But would anyone be in a greengrocer's shop if they could
be in anything else? When we were kids, he and I, we used to plan we'd
be Lord Mayors--A greengrocer!"

"An honest and