Oh, I LOVE a man that can do that--make up his mind to a thing and then put it through!" Condy watched her as she talked, her brown-black eyes coruscating, her cheeks glowing, her small hands curled into round pink fists.
"Blix, you're splendid!" he exclaimed; "you're fine! You could put life into a dead man.

You're the kind of girl that are the making of men.
By Jove, you'd back a man up, wouldn't you?
You'd stand by him till the last ditch.

Of course," he went on after a pause--"of course I ought to go to New York.

But, Blix, suppose I went--well, then what?
It isn't as though I had any income of my own, or rich aunt.

Suppose I didn't find something to do--and the chances are that I wouldn't for three or four months--what would I live on in the meanwhile?
'What would the robin do then, poor thing ?' I'm a poor young man, Miss Bessemer, and I've got to eat.