He was such a wonderful lad for dreams--with the most exuberant fancy in the way he used to talk of New York and what he wanted to do back here--to use the backyards and the roofs and turn them into gardens.

This town, when Joe got through with it--well, from an aeroplane it was to look more or less like a bed of roses--or a hill town in Italy.

But that was only his lighter vein.
When his fancy was really, working hard, he took department stores, hotels and huge railroad terminals and jammed them all together into one big building.

How deep in the earth it was to have gone I really can't remember, nor how far up into the skies.

But there was a garden at the top--or a meadow or prairie or something." "Yes," thought Ethel, "I'm going to like him." "Joe could talk of his plans all night," Dwight went on good-naturedly.
"And keep a poor lazy musician like me from my piano where I belonged." "Was it you who taught him to play ?" she asked.
"On the piano?
It was," he replied.