ver I
have no desire to."

She drew the line there, and rarely had any one dared to expostulate
further with her. When they ventured it, Aurora Googe turned upon them
those dark eyes, in which at such times there burned a seemingly
unquenchable light of self-feeding defiance, and gave them to
understand, with a repelling dignity of manner that bordered hard on
haughtiness, that what she and her son might or might not do was no
one's concern but their own. This self-evident truth, when it struck
home to her well-wishers, made her no friends. Nor did she regret this.
She had dwelt, as it were, apart, since her marriage and early
widowhood--her husband had died seven months before Champney was
born--on the old Googe estate at The Gore. But she was a good neighbor,
as Mrs. Caukins could testify; paid her taxes promptly, and minded her
flocks, the source of her limited income, until wool-raising in New
England became unprofitable. An opportunity was presented when her boy
was ten years old to sell a portion of the barren sheep pastures for the
first quarry. She counted herself fortunate in being able thus to
provide for Champney's four college years.

In all the village, there were only three men, whom Aurora Googe named
friend. These men, with the intimacy born of New England's community of
interest, called her to her face by her Christian name; they were
Octavius Buzzby, old Joel Quimber, and Colonel Caukins. There had been
one other, Louis Champney, who during his lifetime promised to do much
for her boy when he should have come of age; but as the promises were
never committed to black and white, they were, after his death, as
though they had never been.

"If only Aunt Meda would fork over some of hers!" Champney exclaimed
with irritation. They were sitting on the porch after tea. "All I want
is a seat in the Stock Exchange--and the chance to start in. I believe
if I had the money Mr. Van Ostend would help me to that."

"You didn't say anything to him about your plans, did you?"

"Well, no; not exactly. But it isn't every fellow gets a chance to dine
at such a man's table, and I thought the opportunity was too good to be
wasted entirely. I let him know in a quiet way that I, like every other
fellow, was looking for a job." Champney laughed aloud at the shocked
look on his mother's face. He knew her independence of thought and
action; it brooked no catering for favors.

"You see, mother, men _have_ to do it, or go u