“Cap'n Shad Gould,” crowed Isaiah, “a good many times in the last four or five year you've called me a fool for heavin' out hints that somethin' about like this was liable to happen. Well? WELL? What have you got to say NOW? Who's the fool NOW? Hey? Who is?” CHAPTER XXX The story of Mary-'Gusta Lathrop is almost told. Before Crawford left South Harniss, which was not until the end of another week, it had been decided that on a day in June of the following year she should cease to be Mary-'Gusta Lathrop. There was a great deal of discussion before this decision was reached, for many perplexing questions had to be answered. First, there was the question of Crawford's future. His father had left a comfortable fortune and an interest in mining properties which would have rendered it quite unnecessary for the young man to keep on with his professional studies had he wished to discontinue them. But he did not so wish. “As I think I told you that Sunday afternoon when we first met at Mrs. Wyeth's, Mary,” he said, “I have always intended to be a doctor. Dad did not want me to be; he wanted me to come in with him, but I wouldn't do it. I love my work and I mean to stick to it and go on with it. If I were as rich as a dozen Rockefellers it wouldn't make any difference. But, as I see it, I am not rich. It is a grave question in my mind how much of that money out there belongs to me.” Mary nodded. “I think I understand what you mean,” she said. “Yes, I think there is no doubt that almost all of my father's money was made there in the West after”--he hesitated and then went on--“after the--the other died and after he married my mother. But nevertheless I shall always feel as if whatever there was belonged to your uncles, the surviving members of the old firm. If I could, I should give it to them.” Mary smiled. “Thank you for saying it, dear,” she said, “and I know you mean it; but it would be no use to offer; they wouldn't take it.” “I know they wouldn't. So we must try and make it up to them in some other way. But suppose we leave that for a time and get back to my work. I'm going to keep on with it; I want to and you say that you want me to.” “I do, very much. I am sure you will be happier in that work than in any other, and besides--I suppose I am ever so unpractical, but I do feel it--I had rather you made your own way. Somehow the idea of our depending upon that money out there doesn't--doesn't--Oh, I can't explain exactly, but I don't like the idea a bit.” “I know. I prefer to paddle my own canoe, if I can. But a young doctor's canoe is likely to move pretty slowly at first. And I intend taking a passenger, you know, and I want her to be comfortable.”