"Yes, I do, but your grandpa don't. And you don't understand him... .

Oh, Albert, DON'T be as stubborn as he is, as your mother was--the Lord and she forgive me for sayin' it. She was partly right about marryin'

your pa and Cap'n Lote was partly right, too. If they had met half way and put the two 'partlys' together the whole thing might have been right in the end. As 'twas, 'twas all wrong. Don't, don't, DON'T, Albert, be as stubborn as that. For their sakes, Al,--yes, and for my sake, for I'm one of your family, too, or seems as if I was--don't."

She hastily wiped her eyes with her ap.r.o.n. He, too was greatly moved.

"Don't cry, Rachel," he muttered, hurriedly. "Please don't... . I didn't know you felt this way. I didn't know anybody did. I don't want to make trouble in the family--any more trouble. Grandmother has been awfully good to me; so, too, has Grandfather, I suppose, in his way.

But--oh, what am I going to do? I can't stay in that office all my life.

I'm not good at business. I don't like it. I can't give up--"

"No, no, course you mustn't. I don't want you to give up."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go to your grandpa and talk to him once more. Not givin'

up your plans altogether but not forcin' him to give up his either, not right away. Tell him you realize he wants you to go on with Z. Snow and Company and that you will--for a while--"

"But--"

"For a while, I said; three or four years, say. You won't be so dreadful old then, not exactly what you'd call a Methusalem. Tell him you'll do that and on his side he must let you write as much as you please, provided you don't let the writin' interfere with the Z. Snow and Co.

work. Then, at the end of the three or four years, if you still feel the same as you do now, you can tackle your poetry for keeps and he and you'll still be friends. Tell him that, Albert, and see what he says.

... Will you?"

Albert took some moments to consider. At length he said: "If I did I doubt if he would listen."

"Oh, yes he would. He'd more than listen, I'm pretty sartin. I think he'd agree."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. You see," with a smile, "while I've been talkin' to you there's been somebody else talkin' to him... . There, there! don't you ask any questions. I promised not to tell anybody and if I ain't exactly broke that promise, I've sprained its ankle, I'm afraid. Good night, Albert, and thank you ever and ever so much for listenin' so long without once tellin' me to mind my own business."

"Good night, Rachel... . And thank you for taking so much interest in my affairs. You're an awfully good friend, I can see that."

"Don't--don't talk that way. And you WILL have that talk with your grandpa?"

"Yes, I will."

"Oh, I'm SO glad! There! Good night. I come pretty nigh kissin' you then and for a woman that's been engaged to be married for upwards of eighteen years that's a nice way to act, ain't it! Good night, good night."

She hurried out of the room. Albert sat down again in his chair by the window. He had promised to go to his grandfather and talk to him. As he sat there, thinking of the coming interview, he realized more and more that the keeping of that promise was likely to be no easy matter. He must begin the talk, he must break the ice--and how should he break it? Timid and roundabout approaches would be of little use; unless his grandfather's state of mind had changed remarkably since their parting in the Z. Snow and Co. office they and their motive would be misunderstood. No, the only way to break the ice was to break it, to plunge immediately into the deepest part of the subject. It promised to be a chilly plunge. He shivered at the prospect.

A half hour later he heard the door of the hall open and shut and knew that Captain Zelotes had returned. Rising, he descended the stairs.

He descended slowly. Just as he reached the foot of the narrow flight Captain Zelotes entered the hall from the dining-room and turned toward him. Both were surprised at the meeting. Albert spoke first.

"Good evening, Grandfather," he stammered. "I--I was just coming down to see you. Were you going to bed?"

Captain Lote shook his head. "No-o," he said, slowly, "not exactly."

"Do you mind waiting a minute? I have a few things--I have something to say to you and--and I guess I shall sleep better if I say it to-night.

I--I won't keep you long."

The captain regarded him intently for an instant, then he turned and led the way to the dining-room.

"Go ahead," he ordered, laconically. Albert squared his shoulders, preparatory to the plunge.

"Grandfather," he began, "first of all I want to tell you I am sorry for--for some of the things I said this afternoon."

He had rehea.r.s.ed this opening speech over and over again, but in spite of the rehearsals it was dreadfully hard to make. If his grandfather had helped him even a little it might have been easier, but the captain merely stood there, expressionless, saying nothing, waiting for him to continue.

Albert swallowed, clenched his fists, and took a new start.

"Of course," he began, "I am sorry for the mistakes I made in my bookkeeping, but that I have told you before. Now--now I want to say I am sorry for being so--well, so pig-headed about the rest of it. I realize that you have been mighty kind to me and that I owe you about everything that I've got in this world."

He paused again. It had seemed to him that Captain Zelotes was about to speak. However, he did not, so the young man stumbled on.

"And--and I realize, too," he said, "that you have, I guess, been trying to give me a real start in business, the start you think I ought to have."

The captain nodded slowly. "That was my idea in startin' you," he said.

"Yes--and fact that I haven't done more with the chance is because I'm made that way, I guess. But I do want to--yes, and I MEAN to try to succeed at writing poetry or stories or plays or something. I like that and I mean to give it a trial. And so--and so, you see, I've been thinking our talk over and I've concluded that perhaps you may be right, maybe I'm not old enough to know what I really am fitted for, and yet perhaps _I_ may be partly right, too. I--I've been thinking that perhaps some sort of--of--"

"Of what?"

"Well, of half-way arrangement--some sort of--of compromise, you know, might be arranged. I might agree to stay in the office and do my very best with bookkeeping and business for--well, say, three years or so.

During that time I should be trying to write of course, but I would only do that sort of writing evenings or on Sat.u.r.days and holidays. It shouldn't interfere with your work nor be done in the time you pay me for. And at the end of the three or four years--"

He paused again. This time the pause was longer than ever. Captain Lote broke the silence. His big right hand had wandered upward and was tugging at his beard.

"Well? ... And then?" he asked.

"Why, then--if--if--Well, then we could see. If business seemed to be where I was most likely to succeed we'd call it settled and I would stay with Z. Snow and Co. If poetry-making or--or--literature seemed more likely to be the job I was fitted for, that would be the job I'd take.

You--you see, don't you, Grandfather?"

The captain's beard-pulling continued. He was no longer looking his grandson straight in the eye. His gaze was fixed upon the braided mat at his feet and he answered without looking up.

"Ye-es," he drawled, "I cal'late I see. Well, was that all you had to say?"

"No-o, not quite. I--I wanted to say that which ever way it turned out, I--I hoped we--you and I, you know--would agree to be--to be good-natured about it and--and friends just the same. I--I--Well, there!

That's all, I guess. I haven't put it very well, I'm afraid, but--but what do you think about it, Grandfather?"

And now Captain Zelotes did look up. The old twinkle was in his eye. His first remark was a question and that question was rather surprising.

"Al," he asked, "Al, who's been talkin' to you?"

The blood rushed to his grandson's face. "Talking to me?" he stammered.

"Why--why, what do you mean?"

"I mean just that. You didn't think out this scheme all by yourself.

Somebody's been talkin' to you and puttin' you up to it. Haven't they?"