not at all. She travels only in one path,
an' you haven't found it. Bill, we've strayed a little. Let's try
to locate the trail o' Happiness. I believe we're gettin' near it.

"'Last year a colt of yours won a classic event of the turf. How
much finer it would be if you had some boys in training for the
sublime contests of life, an' it wouldn't cost half so much. You
know, there are plenty of homeless boys who need your help.
Wouldn't it pay better to develop a Henry M. Stanley--once a
homeless orphan--than a Salvator or an Ormonde or a Rayon d'Or?'

"'Pound away,' said Bill. 'Nail an' rivet me to the cross. I
haven't a word to say, except this: What in the devil do ye want me
to do?'

"'Well, ye might help to redeem New England,' I said. 'The Yankee
blood is runnin' out, an' it's a pity. To-day the Yankees are
almost a childless race. Do ye know the reason?'

"He shook his head.

"'It costs so much to live,' I says. 'We can't afford children.
To begin with, the boys an' girls don't marry so young. They can't
stand the expense. They're all keepin' up with Lizzie, but on the
wrong road. The girls are worse than the boys. They go out o' the
private school an' beat the bush for a husband. At first they
hope to drive out a duke or an earl; by-an'-by they're willin' to
take a common millionaire; at last they conclude that if they can't
get a stag they'll take a rabbit. Then we learn that they're
engaged to a young man, an' are goin' to marry as soon as he can
afford it. He wears himself out in the struggle, an' is apt to be
a nervous wreck before the day arrives. They are nearin' or past
thirty when he decides that with economy an' _no children_ they can
afford to maintain a home. The bells ring, the lovely strains from
"Lohengrin" fill the grand, new house o' God, an' overflow into the
quiet streets o' the village, an' we hear in them what Wagner never
thought of--_the joyful death-march of a race_. Think of it, Bill,
this old earth is growin' too costly for the use o' man. We prefer
autos an' diamonds an' knick-knacks! Life has become a kind of a
circus where only the favored can pay the price of admission, an'
here in America, where about all the great men we have had were
bred in cabins, an' everything worth a fish-hook came out o'
poverty! You have it in your power to hasten the end o' this
wickedness,' I said. 'For one thing, you can make the middleman
let go of our throats in this co