"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 course," David said hastily. "Do you know what time it is, Mr. Fry?" "No! Hear the rest!" said Anthony. "... But those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, or woe, Seek me in vain and ceaselessly implore; I answer not and I return--no more!" Almost reverently the book closed. "Have you quite assimilated the full meaning of that little poem, David?" he asked gravely. "Er--yes." "Quite?" Anthony persisted. "Why, I guess so," David said, eyes opening again. "Yes, I know I have--only don't look at me like that and----" "Then hear the rest of what I have to say," Anthony went on quickly and impressively, "for now we come to my reason for bringing you here. David, you are poor. You are without a profession--without a business of your own. Your brightest hope at present is to become a plumber." "Say----" David began. "I should have said, your brightest chance," Anthony corrected. "But your _ambition_, David, is altogether different. Your ambition is to become--_what_?" And now, before the penetrating, hypnotic eye, David seemed, not without warrant, to have grown downright frightened. He glanced swiftly at Anthony and at the door. "I don't know," he said breathlessly. "What's the answer?" "Well, what do you want to become? A doctor? A lawyer? A teacher? An electrician? A journalist? A clergyman? A painter? An architect? A mining engineer? A civil engineer? A----" It was plain to Johnson Boller that the situation was getting beyond David's doubtless nimble, doubtless criminal, mind. The boy held up an unsteady hand and stayed the flow. "That's it!" he said hoarsely. "A civil engineer! You got it out of me, didn't you? And now I'd better go and----"