"You managed to buck along, Uncle Dave."
"Yes—buck along! I couldn't make up my mind to——"
"I understand, Uncle Dave. Miss Fletcher is great stuff—she makes other women look cheap."
"Bud, some women are like that."
"I suppose so."
Both men shook the ashes from their pipes—there was a night's work ahead.
Martin stared at the young face opposite. It was a strong, kind face—a face waiting for the high waves to strike it. Martin seemed never to have known the boy, really, before.
"Bud, suppose you never find your woman?" he asked, huskily.
"All right, then I'll peg along with that much lacking. Oh! I know what you are thinking of, Uncle Dave. I've been through it—and turned it down! Ever since I can remember I've kept a grip on myself by remembering you!"
"Good God, boy!" Martin choked; "I'm a poor model. At the best I've been—neutral."