get sick and die,
like the rest of us. But I should like to know more about 'em. You
believe it's inhabited, don't you?"

Westover's agnosticism did not, somehow, extend to Mars. "Yes, I've no
doubt of it."

Jackson seemed pleased. "I've read everything I can lay my hands on about
it. I've got a notion that if there's any choosin', after we get through
here, I should like to go to Mars for a while, or as long as I was a
little homesick still, and wanted to keep as near the earth as I could,"
he added, quaintly.

Westover laughed. "You could study up the subject of irrigation, there;
they say that's what keeps the parallel markings green on Mars; and
telegraph a few hints to your brother in Colorado, after the Martians
perfect their signal code."

Perhaps the invalid's fancy flagged. He drew a long, ragged breath. "I
don't know as I care to leave home, much. If it wa'n't a kind of duty, I
shouldn't." He seemed impelled by a sudden need to say, "How do you think
Jefferson and mother will make it out together?"

"I've no doubt they'll manage," said Westover.

"They're a good deal alike," Jackson suggested.

"Westover preferred not to meet his overture. You'll be back, you know,
almost as soon as the season commences, next summer."

"Yes," Jackson assented, more cheerfully. "And now, Cynthy's sure to be
here."

"Yes, she will be here," said Westover, not so cheerfully.

Jackson seemed to find the opening he was seeking, in Westover's tone.
"What do you think of gettin' married, anyway, Mr. Westover?" he asked.

"We haven't either of us thought so well of it as to try it, Jackson,"
said the painter, jocosely.

"Think it's a kind of chance?"

"It's a chance."

Jackson was silent. Then, "I a'n't one of them," he said, abruptly, "that
think a man's goin' to be made over by marryin' this woman or that. If he
a'n't goin' to be the right kind of a man himself, he a'n't because his
wife's a good woman. Sometimes I think that a man's wife is the last
person in the world that can change his disposition. She can influence
him about this and about that, but she can't change him. It seems as if
he couldn't let her if he tried, and after the first start-off he don't
try."

"That's true," Westover assented. "We're terribly inflexible. Nothing but
something like a change of heart, as they used to call it, can make us
different, and even then we're apt to go back to our old shape. When you
look at it in that light, marr