“I wish,” he said to Skelton, “you’d speak to the boy about going out in that boat in all sorts of weather. There’s a storm coming up outside, and nothing will please him more than to be caught in it, and to come home and tell you how near he came to being drowned. You taught him to manage a boat much too well. He takes all manner of risks, by Jove!” “He is venturesome to the last degree,” replied Skelton, “and I cannot make him otherwise. But, as you know”--Skelton smiled, and hesitated a moment--“I suffer all sorts of palpitations when he is in danger. Yet, if he shirked it, I should detest him.” Bulstrode raised his shaggy brows significantly; he knew all this well enough without Skelton’s telling him. In a moment Skelton added: “It has also been a satisfaction to me to see this spirit in him, for it indicates he will be a man of action. I entreat you, Bulstrode, if you should outlive me, never let him become a mere dreamer. I would rather see him squander every dollar that will be his, if the possession of it should make him a mere _dilettante_--what I have been so long, but which I shall never be again, by heaven!” Bulstrode looked surprised. He could not imagine why a dissipated old hulk like himself should outlast Skelton, who was in the most perfect vigour of manhood. As he watched Skelton walking across the lawn to the bridge he could not but observe his grace, his thoroughbred air, the indescribable something that made other men commonplace beside him. “Don’t wonder the women fall in love with you!” he growled, returning to his book.