ot yet dead. To play follow-the-leader with a
man of a past century is permissible and laudable, but to give the
same allegiance to a contemporary is, in the narrow view of the
critics, to accept a secondary place."

The Kentuckian sketched with ardor the dashing brilliance of the
other's achievement: how five years had brought him from lethal
obscurity to international fame; how, though a strictly American
product who had not studied abroad, his _Salon_ pictures had
electrified Paris. And the girl listened with attentive interest.

When the last race was ended and the thousands were crowding out
through the gates, Saxon heard his host accepting a dinner invitation
for the evening.

"I shall have a friend stopping in town on his way East, whom I want
you all to meet," explained Mr. Bellton, the prospective host. "He is
one Senor Ribero, an attache of a South American legation, and he may
prove interesting."

Saxon caught himself almost frowning. He did not care for society's
offerings, but the engagement was made, and he had now no alternative
to adding his declaration of pleasure to that of his host. He was,
however, silent to taciturnity as Steele's runabout chugged its way
along in the parade of motors and carriages through the gates of the
race-track inclosure. In his pupils, the note of melancholy unrest was
decided, where ordinarily there was only the hint.

"There is time," suggested the host, "for a run out the Boulevard; I'd
like to show you a view or two."

The suggestion of looking at a promising landscape ordinarily
challenged Saxon's interest to the degree of enthusiasm. Now, he only
nodded.

It was not until Steele, who drove his own car, stopped at the top of
the Iroquois Park hill that Saxon spoke. They had halted at the
southerly brow of the ridge from which the eye sweeps a radius of
twenty miles over purpled hills and polychromatic valleys, to yet
other hills melting into a sky of melting turquois. Looking across the
colorful reaches, Saxon gave voice to his enthusiasm.

They left the car, and stood on the rocks that jut out of the clay at
the road's edge. Beneath them, the wooded hillside fell away, three
hundred feet of precipitous slope and tangle. For a time, Saxon's eyes
were busy with the avid drinking in of so much beauty, then once more
they darkened as he wheeled toward his companion.

"George," he said slowly, "you told me that we were to go to a cabin
of yours tucked away somewh