Aunt Eleanor fascinated me as few
young women have ever done. I used to go up from
the works to have tea with her, and sit talking
to her for hours. It was very stimulating,
for she couldn't tolerate stupidity."
"It must have been then that your luck began,
Bartley," said Wilson, flicking his cigar
ash with his long finger. "It's curious,
watching boys," he went on reflectively.
"I'm sure I did you justice in the matter of ability.
Yet I always used to feel that there was a
weak spot where some day strain would tell.
Even after you began to climb, I stood down
in the crowd and watched you with--well,
not with confidence. The more dazzling the
front you presented, the higher your facade
rose, the more I expected to see a big crack
zigzagging from top to bottom,"--he indicated
its course in the air with his forefinger,--
"then a crash and clouds of dust. It was curious.
I had such a clear picture of it. And another
curious thing, Bartley," Wilson spoke with
deliberateness and settled deeper into his
chair, "is that I don't feel it any longer.
I am sure of you."
Alexander laughed. "Nonsense! It's not I
you feel sure of; it's Winifred. People often
make that mistake."
"No, I'm serious, Alexander. You've changed.
You have decided to leave some birds in the bushes.
You used to want them all."
Alexander's chair creaked. "I still want a
good many," he said rather gloomily. "After
all, life doesn't offer a man much.
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