* * * * *
Our rival schemer, Mr. Norman Fleet, has arrived, and electrical
transmission has shaken hands with compressed air. The millennium must be
on the way, for never did two men want so nearly the same thing, and yet
agree to take each what the other does not need.
Mr. Fleet does not "want the earth," either, nor all the waters thereof;
but the most astonishing thing is, he doesn't want the Snow Bank! He not
only doesn't want it himself, but is perfectly willing that Tom should have
it. In fact, do what we will, it seems to be impossible for us to tread on
the tail of that young man's coat. But having heard a little bird whisper
that he is in love, and successfully so, I am not so surprised at his
amiability. Neither am I altogether unprepared, if the little bird's
whisper be true, for the fact that Miss Malcolm is becoming reconciled to
Tom's designs upon her beloved scenery. For the sake of consistency, and
that pure devotion to the Beautiful, so rare in this sordid age, I could
have wished that she had not weakened so suddenly; but for Tom's sake I am
very glad. She is clay in the hands of the potter, now that she knows my
husband does not want "all the water," and that his success does not mean
the failure of Mr. Norman Fleet.
Harshaw will take the Snow Bank scheme when he takes Kitty back to London.
If he promotes it, I tell Tom, after the fashion in which he "boomed"
Kitty's marriage to his cousin, we're not likely to see either him or the
Snow Bank again. But "Harshaw is all right," Tom says; and I believe that
the luck is with him.