“Quite so! That’s one reason why everybody downtown is laughing at Dan. Your father will never do it, Martha. Have you any idea he will?” “Not much of one,” she admitted sadly, and shook her head. “He doesn’t understand Dan’s theory that the car line would pay for itself by fares from the people who’d build along the line.” “No, I shouldn’t think he’d understand that—at least not very sympathetically!” “Dan isn’t discouraged, is he?” she asked. “No, he isn’t the temperament to be discouraged by anything. It’s a matter of disposition, not of facts, and Dan was born to be a helpless optimist all his life. For instance, he still believes that when he marries his Miss McMillan and brings her here to live, grandmother will learn to like her! Yet he ought to know by this time that grandmother’s a perfect duplicate of your father in the matter of plaster of Paris. I suppose you’ve seen Miss McMillan’s photograph, Martha?” Harlan glanced at her as if casually, but she answered without any visible embarrassment: “Oh, yes; he brought it over, and talked of her a whole evening. If the photograph’s like her——” She paused. “It’s one of those photographs that _are_ like,” Harlan observed. “My own judgment is that she’s not precisely the girl to put on a pair of overalls and go out and help Dan clear the underbrush off his ‘Addition.’” “Is he doing that himself? I haven’t seen him for days and days.” “No,” said Harlan. “You wouldn’t, because he _is_ doing just about that. I believe he has five or six darkies helping him; but he keeps overalls for himself out there in a shed. He gets up before six, drives out in his runabout, with a nose-bag of oats for his horse under the seat, and he gets home after dark ready to drop, but still talking about what a success he’s going to make of the great and only ‘Ornaby Addition.’ He wears shabby clothes all the time—he seems not to care at all how he looks—and Saturdays he comes home at noon and spends the rest of the day downtown making orations to bankers and business men, especially your father.” “To no effect at all,” Martha said gloomily. “Oh, but I think he’s had an extraordinarily distinct effect!” “What effect is it?” “Well, I’m afraid,” Harlan said slowly;—“I’m afraid he’s been successful in making himself the laughing stock of the town.” “They—they think he’s just a joke?” “Not ‘just’ one,” the precise Harlan replied. “They think he’s the biggest one they’ve ever seen.” Martha uttered a sound of angry protest, though she did not speak at once, but stared frowningly at the fire; then she turned abruptly to Harlan. “Why don’t you help him?” “I? Well, he hasn’t asked me to help him, precisely. Did he tell you I——” “No; he didn’t say anything about you. But why don’t you?”