ohnson Boller; "only that kid's hands
look more like a society queen's than an honest workingman's."

"They may be hands designed for better things. David! Tell me, are you
quite satisfied to be a plumber's helper, or was it the only thing you
could find in the way of employment?"

"It was all I could find," David muttered, glancing at the door. And
then, with his quick smile, he rose again. "I'd like to sit here and
answer questions, Mr. Fry, but I'll have to run along and----"

Anthony beamed at him over his glasses, fidgeting there with the
impatience of youth, standing on one foot and then on the other. Anthony
turned and beamed at the bookcase beside him, and selecting a volume,
beamed at that, too.

"David," said he, "will you be seated long enough to hear a little
poem?"

"What?"

"It is a very short poem, and one of my favorites," Anthony mused, and
his stare at David grew quite hypnotic. "Ah, here it is--a little,
wonderfully big poem by the late Senator John Ingalls. It is
called--'Opportunity.'"

"Aha!" David said rather stupidly.

"And now, listen," said Anthony, clearing his throat.

"Master of human destinies am I!"

He paused and sent the hypnotic smile drilling into David.

"'_Master of human destinies!_'" he repeated. "That, in itself, means a
very great deal, does it not?"

"I guess so," David muttered dazedly, and, however briefly, Johnson
Boller almost liked him for the look he directed at Anthony's bowed
head.

"Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait,
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate
Deserts and seas remote, and passing by
Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late
I knock unbidden once at every gate!"

"Once," concluded Anthony, "at every gate. _Once_, David!"

"Yes, I've heard that poem before," said David, who was examining the
rug.

Johnson Boller laughed in a rich undertone. Anthony flushed, and his
voice rose a little as he continued:

"If feasting, rise; if sleeping, wake before
I turn away. It is the hour of fate
And they who follow me reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
Save death...."

The owner of Fry's Imperial Liniment looked over his glasses and
discovered that David, having poked open the door of the little-used
cellarette with his foot, was looking in at the bottles with mild
interest.

"'Every foe save death!'" Anthony rapped out. "Did you hear that,
David?"

"Yes, of cour