Lowell began. "Too simple. I know Selma. I know you have learned to depend upon Selma people, Selma stores, Selma homes for your life.
"I am appealing now to your mind. I want you to think of me not as you think of your father, that is, not as a god nor as a man, but as a being far closer to you than either. You and I … we shall seek the same thing together. You shall give me youth—I shall give you wisdom.
"First you must forget Selma. When we reach California, I shall enshrine you in my most beautiful of homes. You shall possess everything there that is mine. You shall do as you please, live as you please—but become what I please." His inflection changed with these last words. Ken fancied his dull blue eyes became sharper.
"What do you mean?" Ken asked.
"Not now—I shan't tell you now. First I want you to live. Tell me, dear boy, what do you want most to be?" Ken flushed as the old man stared, awaiting an answer.
"I don't know yet."
"I shall wait. We shall relax, stop talking, go for a walk perhaps. Or what you will."
"Mr. Lowell," said Ken, "I'm tired. I was up this morning at five. May I go to bed?"
"Of course—of course. I forgot. Forgive me." Mr. Lowell sighed. "Perhaps I should turn in too. We have a long drive before us tomorrow." He rose and offered a hand.
"My boy, believe in me—will you?"
Ken rose and faced Mr. Lowell. "I believe in nothing else."
He was amazed at these words. He himself, he decided, was not speaking. He could not have said such a silly
