ance to sit on top. When I wore overalls
it wasn't funny. Well, what am I going to do with him?"

"If you really want me to tell you I'd say to let him alone. He's a
perfectly clean, straight, high-minded boy. If he were physically strong
enough I should recommend him to go to college, late as it is for him,
or better, to a school where he would really satisfy what seems to be
his sincere ambition to learn to do something with his hands. But he's
all right as he is. You ought to be glad that his aims are so wholesome.
There are sons of prosperous men right around here who see everything
red."

"That boy," declared Thatcher, pride and love surging in him, "is as
clean as wheat!"

"Quite so; no one could know him without loving him. And I don't mind
saying that I find myself in accord with many of his ideas."

"Sort of damned idealist yourself?"

"I should blush to say it," laughed Dan; "but I feel my heart warming
when Allen gets to soaring sometimes; he expresses himself with great
vividness. He goes after me hard on my _laissez-faire_ notions."

"I take the count and throw up the sponge!"

"Oh, that's a chestnut that means merely that the underdog had better
stay under if he can't fight his way out."

"It seems tough when you boil it down to that; I guess maybe Allen's
right--we all ought to divide up. I'm willing, only"--and he grinned
quizzically--"I'm paired with Mort Bassett."

The light in his cigar had gone out; he swung round and faced the map of
Indiana above Morton Bassett's desk, fumbling in his waistcoat for a
match. When he turned toward Harwood again he blew smoke rings
meditatively before speaking.

"If you're one of these rotten idealists, Harwood, what are you doing
here with Bassett? If that ain't a fair question, don't answer it."

Harwood was taken aback by the directness of the question. Bassett had
always spoken of Thatcher with respect, and he resented the new
direction given to this conversation in Bassett's own office. Dan
straightened himself with dignity, but before he could speak Thatcher
laughed, and fanned the smoke of his cigar away with his hands.

"Don't get hot. That was not a fair question; I know it. I guess Bassett
has his ideals just like the rest of us. I suppose I've got some, too,
though I'd be embarrassed if you asked me to name 'em. I suppose"--and
he narrowed his eyes--"I suppose Mort not only has his ideals but his
ambitions. They go together, I reckon."

"I h