planet—further on! Got it? ‘Them’s my sentiments’ on the woman mess. The class is dismissed. Now let’s get down to business!” “You’re a philosopher!” gasped Ted Thorne weakly. “Until a man becomes a philosopher in some form or other, he’s going to have a mighty hard scratch in this world, Ted, to dig up reasons for all that happens to him.” Ted Thorne looked at his salesman in frank admiration. He saw a prematurely old young fellow with fine flecks of gray beginning to show at his temples, even at twenty-seven. There were deep creases of still deeper strength about his mouth. His eyes were calmer and held a wounded look at times which melted into growing reassurance that life, after all, was mostly what we make it. Nose was prominent. Mouth and chin were stubborn, though lips came together evenly. His head was perfectly proportioned. His hands were the slender hands of the artist, the builder, the creator. He had the properties of piano wire, somehow—wire capable of producing the finest melodies in all nature when properly tightened and tuned—yet strong enough to bear a weight more out of proportion to its size and stress than any other substance in existence. “Nathan,” he said gravely, “we’re going to have war; did you know it?” “I hope not!” “All the same, we’re going to have war. And if we have war, there’ll be a draft. Before that comes, I want to utilize your services in doing something for the company we can’t spare any other man to do. I believe it’ll be extremely agreeable to yourself, too—a change—an education—an opportunity to get out and see what the world is like. I want to send you abroad.” “Abroad!” gasped Nathan. “Your wife’s elimination comes at an especially happy time, old man. Besides, a change of scene may soften the sting of the experience. How long will it take to start the divorce business?” “A week to start it, perhaps. The case can’t be heard until June, anyhow.” “It’ll be purely mechanical, of course, seeing it probably won’t be contested.” Nathan nodded. “Where do you want me to go?” he asked quietly. “France?” “Siberia!” Thorne made the announcement as he might have named Rutland, Bennington or Troy, New York. “What!”