citizens, they spent their lives in fitting their son to occupy a position in life higher than they themselves could hope to attain; and Cosden had made the most of his opportunities. Seven years Huntington's junior, he had succeeded in a comparatively short time in extracting from his commercial pursuits a property which, from the standpoint of income, at least, was hardly less than his friend's. He, too, was a product of the university, but his name would be found blazoned on the annals of Harvard athletics rather than in the archives of the Phi Beta Kappa. His election as captain of the football team was a personal triumph, for it broke the precedent of social dominance in athletics, and laid the corner-stone for that democracy which since then has given Harvard her remarkable string of victories. The same dogged determination, backed up by real ability, which forced recognition in college accomplished similar results in later and more serious competitions. In the business world he was taken up first because he made himself valuable and necessary, and he held his advantage by virtue of his personal characteristics.

Cosden was not universally popular. He won his victories by sheer force of determination and ability rather than by diplomacy or finesse. In business dealings he had the reputation of being a hard man, demanding his full pound of flesh and getting it, but he was scrupulously exact in meeting his own obligations in the same spirit. To an extent this characteristic was apparent in everything he did; but to those who came to know him it ceased to be offensive because of other, more agreeable qualities which went with it. They learned that, after all, money to him was only the means to an end which he could not have secured without it.

To the man whose ruling passion is his business it is natural to measure himself and his actions by the same yardstick which has yielded full return in his office; to him whose property stands simply as a counter and medium of exchange the measure of life is inevitably different. The good-natured chaffing at the Club was forgotten by Huntington before he stepped into his automobile, but it still remained in Cosden's mind. As the car rolled out of the Club grounds he turned to his companion.

"Monty," he said, "what is there so different about us that it attracts comment?"

"We should have found out if you hadn't snapped together like a steel trap. There was the chance of a lifetime to learn all about ourselves, and you shut them off by saying, 'If we're satisfied, whose concern is it, anyhow?'"

"Of course we are different," Cosden continued; "that's only natural. No two fellows are alike. I wonder if what you said about our being bachelors hasn't more truth than poetry in it.—Give me a light from your pipe."

"What is the connection?"

Cosden suddenly became absorbed and gave no sign that he heard the question. When he spoke his words seemed still more irrelevant.

"Monty," he said seriously, "I want you to take a little trip with me for perhaps two or three weeks, or longer. What do you say?"

Huntington showed no surprise. "It might possibly be arranged," he said.

Again Cosden relapsed into silence, puffing vigorously at his cigar as was his habit when excited. Huntington watched him curiously, wondering what lay behind.

"Did you ever try smoking a cigar with a vacuum cleaner?" he asked maliciously. "They say it draws beautifully, and consumes the cigar in one-tenth the time ordinarily required by a human being."

Cosden was oblivious to his raillery. "What do you think of marriage?" he demanded abruptly.

The question, and the serious manner in which it was asked, succeeded in rousing Huntington to a point of interest.

"What do I think of— So that's the idea, is it, Connie? That's why you picked me up on what I said about bachelors? Good heavens, man! you haven't made up your mind to marry me off like this without my consent?"

"Of course not," Cosden answered, with some impatience; "but what do you think of the idea in general?"

Huntington looked at his companion with some curiosity. "Well," he said deliberately, "if you really ask the question seriously, I consider marriage an immorality, as it offers the greatest possible encouragement to deceit."

Cosden sighed. "You are a hard man to talk to when you don't start the conversation. I really want your advice."

"Would it be asking too much to suggest that you throw out a few hints here and there as to the real bearing of your inquiry, so that I may come fairly close on the third guess?"

"I've decided to get married," Cosden announced.

"By Jove!" The words brought Huntington bolt upright in his seat. "You don't really mean it?"

"That's just what I mean. It occurred to me on the way home from the office last night. What you said about a bachelor's life being an inconsistency reminded me of it. I believe you're right."

Huntington regarded him for a moment with a puzzled expression on his face; then he relaxed, convulsed with laughter. Cosden was distinctly nettled.

"This doesn't strike me as the friendliest way in the world to respond to a fellow's request for advice on so serious a subject."

"You don't want to consult me," Huntington insisted, checking himself; "what you need is a specialist. When did you first feel the attack coming on? Oh, Lord! Connie! That's the funniest line you ever pulled off!"

"Look here," Cosden said, with evident irritation; "I'm serious. With any one else I should have approached the subject less abruptly, but I don't see why I should pick and choose my words with you.

"And the trip"—Huntington interrupted, again convulsed—"'for two or three weeks, or longer'? Is that to be your wedding-trip, and am I to go along as guardian?"

The older man's amusement became contagious, and Cosden's annoyance melted before his friend's keen enjoyment of the situation.

"Oh, well, have your laugh out," he said good-naturedly. "When it's all over perhaps you'll discuss matters seriously. Can you advance any sane reason why I should not marry if I see fit?"

"None whatever, my dear boy, provided you've found a girl who possesses both imagination and a sense of humor."

"I have reached a point in my life where I can indulge myself in marriage as in any other luxury," Cosden pursued, unruffled by Huntington's comments. "I've slaved for fifteen years for one definite purpose—to make money enough to become a power; and now I've got it. Up to this time a wife would have been a handicap; now she can be an asset. After all is said and done, Monty, a home is the proper thing for a man to have. It's all right living as you and I do while one's mind is occupied with other things, but it is an inconsistency, as you say. Now—well, what have you to put up against my line of argument?"

"Am I to understand that all this, reduced to its last analysis, is intended to convey the information that you have fallen in love?"

"What perfect nonsense!" Cosden replied disgustedly. "You and I aren't school-boys any more. We're living in the twentieth century, Monty, and people have learned that sometimes it's hard to distinguish between love and indigestion. I won't say that marriage has come to be a business proposition, but there's a good deal more thinking beforehand than there used to be. A woman wants power as much as a man does, and the one way she can get it is through her husband. It's only the young and unsophisticated who fall for the bushel of love and a penny loaf these days, and there are mighty few of those left. Get your basic business principles right to begin with, I say, and the sentimental part comes along of itself."