"No, I don't really think that, Floyd," she answered. "I was just thinking, indeed, of—of what a pity it is when other people have been cock-sure too."
"Is it only for the others? Haven't you any sympathy for the poor devil himself?" Floyd asked.
"Oh, I hope so," she answered, and caught her breath.
He realized then how bitter and surprising the disappointment of the building had been to her; he imagined that it was the first time she had been confronted with such inferiority in her husband's work. And if he had known, the greatest pain to her came from the feeling that Stewart had failed in the thing that he should for reasons of sentiment and friendship have done best.
That evening when Floyd went home. Colonel Halket welcomed him with an eager excitement.
"Come in here, Floyd," he said. "I've got something to show you." Then he stopped at the door of the library and looked at his grandson sharply. "Have you seen the new Contemporary Review?—the one that's out to-day?"
"Not yet," Floyd answered.
Colonel Halket walked to the library table and took up a magazine which he handed to Floyd. "Glance your eye down the table of contents," he said.
"Hello!" Floyd exclaimed. "You're pretty secret about doing things, are n't you? You never told me you were writing for the magazines."
"I thought I'd surprise you," chuckled his grandfather. "It's not many writers, I guess, whose first contribution is accepted by the Contemporary. Maybe I mistook my vocation, and should have been a literary man!" He laughed gayly; it was a long time since Floyd had seen him so youthful and so pleased. "Read it, Floyd, and tell me what you think of it."
The article was entitled "The Employer and the Union." It began informally: "For many years I have been a large employer of labor, and I have the happiness
