ared the air by brushing away the convention with a word,
addressed daringly to Bassett:--

"Papa's come back from fishing! _My_ papa is digging bait," and they all
laughed.

"Miss Garrison, you must be the greatest of girls, for you have my own
ideas! Our invincible young orator here has been telling me so!"

"That was a grand speech; many happy returns of the day!" was Marian's
greeting to Dan.

"You certainly have a great voice, Daniel," remarked Mrs. Owen, "and you
had your nerve with you."

"You were effective from the first moment, Mr. Harwood. You ought to
consider going on the lecture platform," said Mrs. Bassett.

"Oh, Dan hasn't come to that yet; its only defeated statesmen who spout
in the Chautauquas," Bassett remarked.

Harwood was in fine fettle. Many men had expressed their approval of
him; at the club he had enjoyed the chaffing of the young gentlemen with
whom he ate luncheon daily, and whose tolerance of the universe was
tinged with a certain cynicism. They liked Harwood; they knew he was a
"smart" fellow; and because they liked and admired him they rallied him
freely. The president of a manufacturing company had called at the
Boordman Building to retain him in a damage suit; a tribute to his
growing fame. Dan was a victim of that error to which young men yield in
exultant moments, when, after a first brush with the pickets, they are
confident of making their own terms with life. Dan's attitude toward the
world was receptive; here in the Bassett domestic circle he felt no
shame at being a Bassett man. All but Sylvia had spoken to him of his
part in the convention, and she turned to him now after a passage with
Allen that had left the young man radiant.

"You have a devoted admirer in Mr. Thatcher. He must be a difficult
friend to satisfy," said Sylvia.

"Then do you think I don't satisfy him?"

"Oh, perfectly! He's a combination of optimist and fatalist, I judge. He
thinks nothing matters much, for everything is coming out all right in
the end."

"Then where do you place me in his scheme of things?"

"That depends, doesn't it," she replied carelessly, "on whether you are
the master of the ship or only a prisoner under the hatches."

He reddened, and she added nothing to relieve his embarrassment.

"You think, then--?" And he stopped, uneasy under her gaze.

"Some of the time I don't think; I just wonder. And that's very
different, isn't it?"

He realized now how much he had counted