“That’s good. You and I are the only people hereabouts who really appreciate Wayne. There are things that Wayne can do.” Walsh nodded again. He settled himself back in his chair comfortably and looked at Wingfield with liking. A bronze Buddha, a striking item of the lares and penates of the Blair home, gazed down upon them benevolently. “Wayne,” said Walsh deliberately, “was born to be a man of power. He was built for big transactions.” Wingfield was surprised into silence. He had never before heard Walsh express himself as to the character of any man and there was something akin to heartiness in this endorsement of Wayne Craighill. Wingfield forgot his quest of the débutante in his eagerness to hear the inscrutable Walsh’s opinions. Fearing that he might relapse into one of the silences for which he was famous, Wingfield applied the prod. “The Colonel never understood Wayne,” he remarked leadingly. “That is possible,” replied Walsh, after a moment of deliberation. “Wayne could do anything he wanted to--lead forlorn hopes, command a battleship, preach a sermon, run a coal mine, or sell a gold brick. The Scotch in him is pretty sound yet. He’s a free spender, but he has his thrifty side.” “Um--yes. Wayne has brains.” “Why don’t you take him in hand, Walsh, and teach him how to work?” After a prolonged silence Walsh asked dryly: “Why?” “Because the Colonel has failed at it.” The two men looked at each other fixedly for a moment. “He tried hard enough. He’s disappointed in Wayne.” Walsh spoke as though he were repeating an accepted opinion rather than voicing his own thought. Wingfield caught him up. “It pleases the Colonel to think that he possesses anything as well authenticated as a thankless child. The serpent’s tooth tickles the Colonel’s vanity. Resignation becomes the Colonel like a pale lavender necktie.” “He may work his way out. Marriage might help him.” “That’s not so easy. A bad marriage would send him clear to the bottom. You’ve got to find a particular sort of girl for his case.” “I agree with you. The girls that are here to-night--the pretty daughters of best families--that kind would be no good for him; and besides, they’re not going to try it. Their papas and mamas wouldn’t let them if they wanted to.” Wingfield was delighted to hear these expressions from Walsh. It was as though the sphinx, breaking the silence of centuries, had suddenly bent down and addressed a chance traveller on the topics of the day. Walsh spoke, moreover, with the quiet conviction of one who had thought deeply on the subject under discussion. “You are quite right. I agree with you fully!” declared Wingfield, anxious to hear further from Walsh. “It would take a plucky girl to tackle Wayne.” “Brains, common sense, patience! A good, sensible working-girl would be my choice.”