What I want to get at is--You see, the great thing a young chap thinks
about is what he is going to make of himself--and how to do it. It
struck me as rather odd that not one of those girls seemed to have any
particular end in view--at least, that ever came out in her
conversation."
I couldn't help smiling, his tone was so serious.
The Skeptic chuckled. He had put up his pipe, and was sitting with his
hands clasped behind his head, as he leaned against one of the great
pillars of the porch. "They have one, just the same," he vouchsafed. "He
who runs may read."
The Philosopher regarded him thoughtfully, through the half-light from
the hall lamp. "I noticed you did a good deal of running, first and
last," he observed. "I suppose you read before you ran--unless you have
eyes in the back of your head. Well," he continued, "you can't make me
believe that all girls are so anxious to make a good impression, or they
wouldn't do some of the things they do."
"For instance?" I suggested, having become curious myself.
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