"'The fact is, Dan, the only way to keep up with that girl is to marry her,' says I. 'Get busy. If you don't somebody else will. Put a mortgage on her an' foreclose it as soon as possible. As a floatin' asset Lizzie is dangerous.'
"Dan picked up his hat an' started for the door.
"'Tell her she must do business or you'll cut the price of
Pettigrews,' I suggested.
"'Good idea!' he answered, as he went away.
"Meanwhile Mr. an' Mrs. Bill Warburton were hot on the trail of
Lizzie.
"Bill came to me one day an' said: 'Those babies have solved the problem; my wife is happy and in excellent health. She sleeps an' eats as well as ever, an' her face has a new look—you have observed it?'
"'Certainly, Bill, an' you're goin' to hear some rather chesty an' superior talk. I saw what was the matter long ago—she was motor-sick, an' tiara-sick, an' dog-sick, an' horse-sick. She was sick of idleness an' rich food an' adulation. She has discovered that there are only three real luxuries—work, children, motherhood—that to shirk responsibility is to forfeit happiness. I have been a little disappointed in you, Bill. Your father was a minister; he had the love of men in his soul. You seem to have taken to dogs an' horses with an affection almost brotherly. I don't blame you so much. When men get rich they naturally achieve a passion for the things that money will buy. They think they've got to improve the breed o' dogs an' horses, an' they're apt to forget the breed o' men. You've been pursuin' Happiness with dogs, horses, an' motor-cars. You never can catch her in that way—never. Don't you remember, Bill, that in the old days we didn't pursue Happiness? Why, Happiness pursued us an' generally caught us. Some days she didn't succeed until we were all tired out, an' then she led us away into the wonderful land o' dreams, an' it was like heaven. You never get Happiness by pursuin' her—that's one dead sure thing. Happiness is never captured. She comes unbidden or not at all. She travels only in one path, an' you haven't found it. Bill, we've strayed a little. Let's try to locate the trail o' Happiness. I believe we're gettin' near it.
"'Last year a colt of yours won a classic event of the turf. How much finer it would be if you had some boys in training for the sublime contests of life, an' it wouldn't cost half so much. You know, there are plenty of homeless boys who need your help. Wouldn't it pay better to develop a Henry M. Stanley—once a homeless orphan—than a Salvator or an Ormonde or a Rayon d'Or?'
"'Pound away,' said Bill. 'Nail an' rivet me to the cross. I haven't a word to say, except this: What in the devil do ye want me to do?'
"'Well, ye might help to redeem New England,' I said. 'The Yankee blood is runnin' out, an' it's a pity. To-day the Yankees are almost a childless race. Do ye know the reason?'