brown leggings.

One brand new morning the Butterfly Man called me aside and placed in
my hands a letter. The American Society of Natural History invited Mr.
John Flint, already a member of the Entomological Society of France, a
Fellow of the Entomological Society of London, and a member of the
greatest of Dutch and German Associations, to speak before it and its
guests, at a most notable meeting to be held in the Society's splendid
Museum in New York City. Not to mention two mere ex-Presidents, some
of the greatest scientific names of the Americas were included in that
list. And it was before such as these that my Butterfly Man was to
speak. Behold me rocking on my toes!

The first effect of this invitation was to please me immensely, I
being a puffed-up old man and carnal-minded at times; nor do I seem to
improve with age. The plaudits of the world, for anybody I admire and
love, ring most sweetly in my foolish ears. Now the honors he had
gotten from abroad were fine and good in their way, but this meant
that the value of his work was recognized and his position
established in his own country, in his own time. It meant a widening
of his horizon, association with clever men and women, ennobling
friendships to broaden his life. A just measure of appreciation from
the worthwhile sweetens toil and encourages genius. And yet--our eyes
met, and mine had to ask an old question.

"Would you better accept it?" I wondered.

"I can't afford not to," said he resolutely. "The time's come for me
to get out in the open, and I might just as well face the music, and
Do it Now. Risks? I hardly think so. I never hunted in couples,
remember--I always went by my lonesome and got away with it. Besides,
who's remembering Slippy? Nobody. He's drowned and dead and done with.
But, however, and nevertheless, and because, I shall go."

Again we looked at each other; and his look was untroubled.

"The pipe-dreams I've had about slipping back into little old New
York! But if anybody had told me I'd go back like I'm going, with the
sort of folks waiting for me that will be waiting now, I'd have passed
it up. Well, you never can tell, can you? And in a way it's funny--now
isn't it?"

"No, you never can tell," said I, soberly. "But I do not think it at
all funny. Quite the contrary." Suppose, oh, suppose, that after all
these years, when a well-earned success was in his grasp, it should
happen--I turned pale. He read my fear in my face and hi