Ambition went out to make the proper Bookings with Destiny. When he
came back the Boy was ten years old.

"We started wrong," whispered Ambition, curling up in the cool grass
near the Day-Dreamer. "The Trick Mule and the Red Cart are all very
well for little Fraidy-Cats and Softies, but a brave Youth of High
Spirit should tread the Deck of his own Ship with a Cutlass under his
Red Sash. Aye, that is Blood gauming up the Scuppers, but is the
Captain chicken-hearted? Up with the Black Flag! Let it be give and
take, with Pieces of Eight for the Victor!"

So it was settled that the Lad was to hurry through the Graded Schools
and then get at his Buccaneering.

But Ambition came back with a revised Program. "You are now Fifteen
Years of Age," said the Wonderful Guide with the glittering Suit. "It
is High Time that you planned a Noble Career, following a Straight
Course from which there shall be no Deviation. The Pirate is a mere
swaggering Bravo and almost Unscrupulous at times. Why not be a great
Military Commander? The Procedure is Simple. Your Father gives the
Finger to the Congressman and then you step off the Boat at West
Point. Next thing you know, you are wearing a Nobby Uniform right out
on the Parade Ground, while bevies of Debutantes from New York City
and other Points admire you for the stern Profile and Military Set-Up.
After that you will subdue many Savage Tribes, and then you will march
up Pennsylvania Avenue at the head of the whole Regular Army, and the
President of the United States will be waiting on the Front Porch of
the White House to present you with a jewelled Sword on behalf of a
Grateful Nation."

"You are right," said the Stripling. His eyes were like Saucers, and
his Nostrils quivered. "I will be Commander-in-Chief, and after I am
laid away, with the Cannon booming, the Folks in this very Town will
put up a Statue of Me at the corner of Sixth and Main, so the
Street-Cars will have to circle to get around it."

Consequently, when he was in his 21st Year, he was sitting at a high
Desk in an Office watching the Birds on a Telegraph Wire. The
Knowledge he had acquired at the two Prep Schools before being pushed
into the Fresh Air ahead of Time had not made him round-shouldered. He
was a likely Chap, but he wore no Plumes.

He became dimly conscious that Ambition was squatted on the Stool next
to him.

"Up to this time we have been Dead Wrong," said the Periodical
Visitor. "There is only on