“I’m not asking you to marry me, not yet, Madge. In a lot of ways I’m my same old self. But I want you to know that I’m working for something, even if it’s only your regard and esteem and respect, Madge. That’s been the big trouble with me, all my life. I’ve never had an incentive—any goal ahead to win. From as far back as I can remember, there’s been no occasion for me to work and win anything. Everything came easy—or rather, it was at hand for me to sample by simply reaching out and taking it, even other girls and women, Madge. You’ve been the only thing that’s been denied me; that piqued me because I couldn’t have you by bawling for you or ‘rushing’ you. Pop and mother let me have all the money I wanted from the day I could reach up over a counter and hand some one silver coins. Nothing was ever too good for me. I got a rotten idea of my own importance. And I’ve known I had it for a long, long time. There’s a lot of it left yet. But I’ve reached the place where I’m tired of having everything handed to me. Honest-to-God, Madge! The world and everything in it was beginning to go stale. I’d explored everything I’d seen to explore; I’d had everything I caterwauled for; people had gone and come the moment I set up a tantrum or showed fight. And life was going stale, I say. It was the same old thing, over and over and over. I might have a better motor-car or a prettier woman. But still it would only be an automobile and a—a—some one to play with. I looked into the future and saw nothing different until the day I dropped. And then Pop banged me in good shape one night in the library. He used a razor strop—yes, he did. I’m tall as he is, and I thought I could lick my weight in anything human that lived, male or female. But he showed me I couldn’t. We made an awful mess. But he trimmed me properly and sat on my chest. When he’d shown he could do it, he started talking to me. Among other things, he made me promise I’d come down here at the first opportunity and humbly ask your forgiveness. I vowed for a time I wouldn’t. But I found a new thrill and a new interest in work and I wondered if I wasn’t cheating myself by not playing the gentleman—with you—with—everybody. I don’t mean as a policy,” the fellow added hastily. “I mean because it was what I ought to do. And so I’ve come, Madge. I’ve got to be back on the job Monday morning, but I want to go back feeling I’ve got a new interest in life—something worth while. That’s the whole story in a nutshell, Madge. And I’m telling you frankly I love you and—I’m sorry—terribly sorry!” What could she do? What could she say? Her reply sounded trite and inadequate.