dick!" he exclaimed, leaning forward, "don't you know what this
thing means to those two young folks? It means just moonshine and mush
and lookin' into each other's eyes, that's about all. THEY haven't
thought any practical thoughts about it. Why, think what their ages are!
Think of yourself at that age! Can't you remember. . . . Humph! Well,
I'm talkin' fifty revolutions to the second. I beg your pardon."

"That's all right, Snow. And I believe you have the situation sized up
as it is. Still--"

"Excuse me, Mr. Fosdick, but don't you think it's about time you had a
look at the boy himself? I'm goin' to ask him to come in here and meet
you."

Fosdick looked troubled. "Think it is good policy?" he asked doubtfully.
"I want to see him and speak with him, but I do hate a scene."

"There won't be any scene. You just meet him face to face and talk
enough with him to get a little idea of what your first impression is.
Don't contradict or commit yourself or anything. And I'll send him out
at the end of two or three minutes."

Without waiting for a reply, he rose, opened the door to the outer
office and called, "Al, come in here!" When Albert had obeyed the
order he closed the door behind him and turning to the gentleman in
the visitor's chair, said: "Mr. Fosdick, this is my grandson, Albert
Speranza. Al, shake hands with Mr. Fosdick from New York."

While awaiting the summons to meet the father of his adored, Albert had
been rehearsing and re-rehearsing the speeches he intended making when
that meeting took place. Sitting at his desk, pen in hand and pretending
to be busy with the bookkeeping of Z. Snow and Company, he had seen,
not the ruled page of the day book, but the parental countenance of the
Honorable Fletcher Fosdick. And, to his mind's eye, that countenance
was as rugged and stern as the rock-bound coast upon which the Pilgrims
landed, and about as unyielding and impregnable as the door of the
office safe. So, when his grandfather called him, he descended from the
tall desk stool and crossed the threshold of the inner room, a trifle
pale, a little shaky at the knees, but with the set chin and erect head
of one who, facing almost hopeless odds, intends fighting to the last
gasp.

To his astonishment the Fosdick countenance was not as his imagination
had pictured it. The blue eyes met his, not with a glare or a glower,
but with a look of interest and inquiry. The Fosdick hand shook his with
politeness, and the