"I mean more as a--as an occupation," he explained. "You know, of course, you've bunched your last cheroot. I was wondering what sort of nicer work you would like to fit yourself for--later on?" Kern boggled a good deal over the answer to this, but finally got it out. "What I'd truly like to be, Mr. V.V., if I could, is a writer, sort of." "Oh!... Yes, yes--a writer! Well, that's very nice. A very nice occupation--writing." The child was encouraged to go on. Staring at him with her grave investigatory eyes, she said, quite timidly: "Mr. V.V., do you think I could _ever_ be an eppig poet, sir?... Like Homer the Blind Bard, y' know?" Mr. V.V.'s encouraging smile became a little fixed. Yet there came nothing of a smirk into it, nothing the least bit superior.... Was this the explanation of the little girl's odd yearning toward pens and desks? How came she to revere the Bard, where even to hear his name? Was it possible that Mrs. Garland's changeling had a spark in her, a magic urging her on?... "Epic poet, is it?" said he aloud, cheerily. "Oh, I daresay something of the sort can be arranged. No harm in having a try anyhow! First thing, of course, is to get a good education...." And he spoke of the High School, when Kern got back from her trip, with a little brushing-up, first, perhaps, under his personal supervision.... And next morning, when Kern's temperature stood down a whole degree at nine o'clock, these great plans seemed to come nearer at a bound. That day the Dabney House drew a long breath and smiled. Miss Masters was even more confident than Vivian that the hard corner had been turned. So the verdict went to Hen Cooney, who telephoned from Saltman's; and so it went to Jem Noonan, who was to be found waiting in front of the Dabney House every evening in these days, silently biting a Heth Plantation Cheroot, which he smoked because Kern made them, though secretly preferring the White River brand, made by the Trust. A great capacity for waiting had Jem. And that was the afternoon also that Doctor mysteriously vanished from his office before four o'clock, having left no word where he could be reached with his office-boy, Mrs. Garland; and was still out when O'Neill called at quarter to six, to talk about his factory law....