A morning or two later the shadow called Marvin reached Chicago. Millions remember how it was in their own homes. Sometimes the whole boy came, sometimes only his shadow, sometimes only a long box. But there was always welcome.

He spent the afternoon lying flat on his back, while father and mother and Anita hovered around for fear his heart would stop beating unless they watched. They brought the telephone to his side and let Augustus talk to him from Duluth. They brought it again and let Charles talk to him from California.

And then after dinner he gave them all the slip—all except his mother. She knew she could not stop him, and so she gave him his latch key, and kissed him, and wished him good luck. An hour later he was in a north shore suburb called Wetumpka.

A taxicab set off with him through a wilderness of private parks and arrived before a lofty pair of wrought iron gates, through which they were admitted by a porter who eyed them narrowly. There was a long winding approach to the house, which was an immense thing, copied after old Moyn’s Park, in Essex.

Once arrived before the stone steps, he foolishly dismissed his driver, mounted and rang, gave the butler three cards, and was ushered into a small reception room.

Presently a tall lean figure appeared, holding the cards close to his dark blue eyes.

“You are not welcome in this house, Mr. Mahan.”

Marvin rose, and stood at attention.

“I am sorry, Mr. Ferry. What I wish to know is whether I am unwelcome to Miss Gratia.”

“You will not see Gratia.”

“Your daughter is of age, sir. I shall certainly see her, and I shall certainly do myself the honor of asking her to become my wife.”

“You will do nothing of the sort. But I am sorry that you have lost a hand, and I’ll not deny that you look well in your uniform. I don’t take much stock in uniforms, but I don’t wonder that the girls like to look at you.”

Marvin lifted his military cap and settled it on his head.

“What you say concerning your country’s uniform is of small weight. Open the door for it.”

Asher Ferry turned to summon his butler.

“Take your hand off that button!”

Asher did so.

Once off the steps, Marvin started for the iron gates. But his heart was thumping so hard that he had to sit down on a carved bench in the midst of ghostly bushes. As he sat there, a car from the house passed him. It was slipping away through the night with a note addressed to Chase Mahan, Esq. The note was brought to that person in his study, and read as follows:

Sir:

I guess your son is about as bad as you are. He has been to my house this evening. He says he is going to ask my daughter to marry him. That won’t do.

The reader’s brows drew together, and the long smooth central portion of his countenance settled back within the muscles of his jaw, leaving the lips undisturbed.

He came and laid the note in the hand of his wife, who read it with quiet eyes.

“It is not pleasant, but it was what we had to expect.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“Dearest, I want you to put Asher Ferry under such obligations that he can’t refuse to let his daughter marry our boy.”

“Does she want to marry him?”

“I don’t know. That’s Marvin’s business.”

Chase walked round to the other side of the table and sat down.

“Asher Ferry is worth fifty times as much money as I am. How can I put such a man under obligations?”

“Perhaps you can’t. I’ve seen you accomplish things as if by white magic, but you’re no match for Asher Ferry.”

Chase snorted.

“He’s a damned poltroon.”

“That’s forcible, dear, but I never heard you speak of iron ore so carelessly.”

“Helen, that man is magnetite, or he could never hold thirty thousand men together. But there’s a yellow streak in him. There’s phosphorus in him, and titanium. If it weren’t for that, he’d be a great idealist.”

“I’m sure that’s a nice analysis. Now just go into your study and think up some way of turning his yellow streak into idealism. I’ve heard you say that phosphorus is just the thing for third rails, and that titanium prevents train wrecks, and I certainly wish to prevent wrecking our boy’s life. When you hear me sing something, come in and speak to Marvin. By that time you’ll have a plan.” Chase obeyed.

About eleven o’clock he heard her begin to play the musical setting of Lamartine’s poem, Jocelyn. Then arose the subtly comforting words of the refugee mother to her child.

He came to the door of the study and looked. Marvin had come in, and was leaning on the piano, pale and grave.

The father sauntered forth and stood at the other side of the piano until the song was finished. Then he remarked, “I call that a lullaby that any man might go to sleep to. Anyhow, I’m going, unless the boy wants to sit up.”

“I’m not sleepy, sir.”

“Then let’s hear about your plans. How soon do you expect to be mustered out?”

“It’s hard to say, but I presume by the first of July.”

“And after that?”

“I have no plans. If you have any sort of job at your disposal, I’ll take it.”

“Marvin, that’s no proper remark for a specialist in carbon. Everything in that group ought to interest you. Carbon, silicon, titanium—”

“Stop there, sir. Send me after titanium, if you know a country where it occurs without admixture of girls.”

Chase laughed. “If you’ll come back one step in the group, I can use you.”

“Silicon dioxide?”

“Precisely. But under sealed orders.”

“The less discretion you allow me, the better. Do I go abroad?”

“Later, perhaps, but for the present the St. Mary’s river will serve. Are you willing to run up there and buy me some rock?”

“Perfectly willing. How much?”

“Twenty acres, in two parcels, islands preferred.”

“How pure?”

“In one parcel it makes no difference. In the other pure enough to be freely acidic. Is it true that the government is dumping TNT into the ocean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Isn’t that a waste?”

“Certainly. It’s easier to handle than dynamite, and any farmer could be taught to use it.”

“Then I’d like some of it.”

“You can’t get it.”

“I’ll lay you five hundred dollars that I’ll buy fifty thousand pounds at less than ten cents a pound.”

“I’ll take you.”

At this point the mother had something to say. “Chase Mahan, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’d better tell him that if you succeed, you will pay for a lecture at Yale on the evils of betting.”

“Very good. Marvin, if I get that explosive you may draw on me for five hundred and waste it on your alma mater.”

“How much am I to pay for the silica?”

“Whatever you think it’s worth. Pay somewhere between ten dollars an acre and a thousand. Ten thousand for either island is the upward limit.”