whom he comes in
contact into the biggest, finest manhood possible. He only knows that
you're a boy tackling a big job that means much to every white boy to
have you succeed with, and for that reason he's just as interested as I
am. Maybe, when we come in this evening, I'll run up to his place, and
you can talk it over with him. If your father helped you at one angle,
it's altogether probable that Peter Morrison could help you at another."

Donald Whiting rubbed his knee reflectively. He was sitting half turned
in the wide seat so that he might watch Linda's hands and her face while
she drove.

"Well, that's all right," he said heartily. "You can write me down as
willing and anxious to take all the help I can get, for it's going to be
no microscopic job, that I can tell you. One week has waked up the Jap
to the fact that there's something doing, and he's digging in and has
begun, the last day or two, to speak up in class and suggest things
himself. Since I've been studying him and watching him, I have come to
the conclusion that he is much older than I am. Something he said in
class yesterday made me think he had probably had the best schooling
Japan could give him before he came here. The next time you meet him
look for a suspicion of gray hairs around his ears. He's too blamed
comprehensive for the average boy of my age. You said the Japs were the
best imitators in the world and I have an idea in the back of my head
that before I get through with him, Oka Sayye is going to prove your
proposition."

Linda nodded as she shot the Bear Cat across the streetcar tracks and
headed toward the desert. The engine was purring softly as it warmed up.
The car was running smoothly. The sun of early morning was shining on
them through bracing, salt, cool air, and even in the valley the larks
were busy, and the mockingbirds, and from every wayside bush the rosy
finches were singing. All the world was coming to the exquisite bloom of
a half-tropical country. Up from earth swept the heavy odors of blooming
citrus orchards, millions of roses, and the overpowering sweetness of
gardens and cultivated flowers; while down from the mountains rolled the
delicate breath of the misty blue lilac, the pungent odor of California
sage, and the spicy sweet of the lemonade bush. They were two young
things, free for the day, flying down a perfect road, adventuring with
Providence. They had only gone a few miles when Donald Whiting took off
his hat,