"
Baird's voice had a ring of bitterness.
"Most of 'em love their children," Roger said uneasily. Baird turned on him
a steady look.
"Love isn't enough," he retorted. "The time is coming very soon when we'll
have the right to guard the child not only when it's a baby but even before
it has been born."
Roger drew closer to John after this. Often behind the beaming smile he
would feel the pain and loneliness, and the angry grit which was fighting
it down. And so he would ask John home to supper on nights when nobody else
was there. One day late in the afternoon they were walking home together
along the west side of Madison Square. The big open space was studded with
lights sparkling up at the frosty stars, in a city, a world, a universe
that seemed filled with the zest and the vigor of life. Out of these lights
a mighty tower loomed high up into the sky. And stopping on his crutches, a
grim small crooked figure in all this rushing turmoil, John set his jaws,
and with his shrewd and twinkling eyes fixed on the top of the tower, he
said,
"I meant to tell you, Mr. Gale. You was asking me once what I wanted to be.
And I want to be an architect."
"Do, eh," grunted Roger. He, too, looked up at that thing in the stars, and
there was a tightening at his throat. "All right," he added, presently,
"why not start in and be one?"
"How?" asked John alertly.
"Well, my boy," said Roger, "I'd hate to lose you in the office--"
"Yes, sir, and I'd hate to go.
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