excitedly under the hypnotic spell of the
announcement, and the answer came quickly, unfalteringly, gravely.

"I know it by something that tells me. It don't say 'maybe you can': it
says 'there isn't power enough between heaven an' hell to stop you.'"

Paul's eyes were large, but as his brother paused he timidly inquired:
"Where did the Montagu come from, Ham? I didn't know you had any middle
name."

"I took it," announced Ham imperiously. "I took it because it's the
name of one of the biggest financiers the world ever knew, but not as
big as I'm goin' to be. I took it because I'm a brother to men like
that--but I'm going to go beyond 'em all, an' I'll carry the name
further than it was ever carried before. I haven't ever talked about
this to any livin' soul else. Folks wouldn't understand. First of all,
I'm goin' to leave this country an' get out into the world."

"Will Pap let you go?"

Ham laughed again. "Pap can't stop me. Nobody can't ever stop me. You
can't hold a river back from the ocean. That's the difference between a
river an' a pond. It's the difference between followin' a star of
destiny an' just goin' on livin' the same as an animal in a God-forsaken
country like this."

"This ain't such a bad country, Ham," argued Paul weakly, with the timid
demurrer of one who sees only the difficulties. "There are some
mighty-good people here, an' out there in the big cities a feller's got
to fight mighty hard to get along, I guess."

"It's a good country to come from," was the swift and contemptuous
rejoinder, "and a damn' poor one to stay in. They've got raw material
here that's all right--like us--but you've got to take it away to finish
it up. As for the hard fight you talk about, Paul, that's what I'm
huntin' for. No man's ever lived that had it in him to be greater than
me."

Upon Paul, with his measureless faith in his brother and his passion for
dreams, the mad arrogance of the declaration was lost. The ecstasy with
which Ham spoke tinged the promise with a fire of conviction--so that
Paul wondered and believed.

CHAPTER III

In the Burton household that fall, a leaven was working. Mary's
mismatched eyes held a tranquillity of quiet self-satisfaction. She had
found somewhere a second fashion magazine and often when she was alone
in the little room under the eaves she snipped industriously away at the
imaginary patterns of gorgeous gowns, or listened to the fervent
pleadings of make-believe