"Not blushing ones. I tell you the color won't stand our modern sterilization process. I misdoubt the dreams, too. If they dream 'em, they're of independence and careers and votes; you wouldn't call those romantic dreams, would you? The little 'clinging vines'--" he waved them back into the past with a comprehensive sweep of his hand--"all gone. Our present-day soil is too invigorating, too stimulating. The young things stand up on their own roots. No more clinging. Each one aspires to be a spunky little tree by herself. Look at 'em and see for yourself--the subways and elevateds are full of 'em at the crush hours, nights and mornings--all glorying in their independence--their fine, strong, young roots. No blushing, no clinging there! Are you convinced?" "I am not," flashed Miss Theodosia gamely. "There must be one little dreamer of love dreams left." "Show her to me." "That isn't fair. I'm not in a way to know girls. I know just Stefana." "And Evangeline." "And Evangeline," laughed Miss Theodosia. "Is she romantic?" demanded the Story Man. And there he had Miss Theodosia. She had instant vision of Evangeline growing, straight and thrifty already, on her own small roots. It was not possible to visualize a blushing--a clinging little Evangeline. "She is still young," Miss Theodosia murmured. "Besides, she's one of a kind. There's only one Evangeline. You can't reason by only one of anything. The exception proves the rule." "Then you yield me Evangeline?" "Yes, you may have her on your side," conceded Miss Theodosia generously. It was rather in the way of a relief to shift the responsibility for Evangeline. Miss Theodosia suddenly bubbled into low laughter. "She is going to be a plumber." "Evangeline a plumber?" "Yes, because she's got to be rich, she says. She's 'sick 'n' tired' of being poor, and you can make such _darlin_', roary, snappy fires in a tin pail! Plumberin' will be fun." He laughed a little, too, enjoyingly, but returned to his arguings. Said he: "_Be_ a plumber, not marry one, you see. What did I tell you? Oh, you have no monopoly on Evangelines! The woods are full of tame Evangelines, anyway. You will have to come over to my side." "Not at all. I haven't given up my own side. I shall hold on a little while longer. I am not going to admit _yet_ that all sentiment is dead and buried. And, anyhow, I don't see what it's being dead or alive has to do with your story. I thought authors were creators. Can't you create a little sentiment--romance? To my order?" she added demurely. Replied the Story Man with grave eyes: "I shall do my best. We are a good deal at the mercy of our heroines. But I will do all that I can to win mine over, dear lady. Heaven knows I want to!"