person they probably imagined, but a father with an intensely unusual
son at home, and if they did not believe him they could come right
along and see for themselves.
The only flaw in his happiness at the moment was the fact that his
circle of friends was so small. He had not missed the old brigade of
the studio before, but now the humblest of them would have been
welcome, provided he would have sat still and listened. Even Percy
Shanklyn would have been acceptable as an audience.
Steve, excellent fellow, was always glad to listen to him on his
favourite subject. He had many long talks with Steve on the question of
William's future. Steve, as the infant's godfather, which post he had
claimed and secured at an early date, had definite views on the matter.
Here, held Steve, was the chance of a lifetime. With proper training, a
baby of such obvious muscular promise might be made the greatest
fighter that ever stepped into the ring. He was the real White Hope. He
advised Kirk to direct William's education on the lines which would
insure his being, when the time was ripe, undisputed heavy-weight
champion of the world. To Steve life outside the ring was a poor
affair, practically barren of prizes for the ambitious.
Mrs. Lora Delane Porter, eyeing William's brow, of which there was
plenty, he being at this time extremely short of hair, predicted a less
robust and more intellectual future for him. Something more on the
lines of president of some great university or ambassador at some
important court struck her as his logical sphere.
Kirk's view was that he should combine both careers and be an
ambassador who took a few weeks off every now and then in order to
defend his champion's belt. In his spare time he might paint a picture
or two.
Ruth hesitated between the army, the navy, the bar, and business. But
every one was agreed that William was to be something special.
This remarkable child had a keen sense of humour. Thus he seldom began
to cry in his best vein till the small hours of the morning; and on
these occasions he would almost invariably begin again after he had
been officially pronounced to be asleep. His sudden grab at the hair of
any adult who happened to come within reach was very droll, too.
As to his other characteristics, he was of rather an imperious nature.
He liked to be waited on. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it.
The greater part of his attention being occupied at this period with
the important duty of chewing his thumb, he assigned the drudgery of
life to his dependants. Their duties were to see that he got up in the
morning, dressed, and took his tub; and after that to hang around on
the chance of general orders.
Any idea Kirk may have had of resuming his work was abandoned during
these months. No model, young and breezy or white-haired and motherly,
passed the studio doors. Life was far too interesting for work. The
canvas which might have become 'Carmen' or 'A Reverie' or even 'The
Toreador's Bride' lay unfinished and neglected in a corner.
It astonished Kirk to find how strong the paternal instinct was in him.
In the days when he had allowed his mind to dwell upon the abstract
