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“Oh, well, I am not the worst. I’m not one of the best either, but I’m not the worst, really.” “Thank you, God, for all the money for the fishing rod. Let Tellef’s grandmother be made to see everything again. And thank you because I am heir of Kingthorpe. In Jesus’ name. Amen.” Once again on the piazza Jerry said, “What is it?”.

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Johnny Blossom thrust his arm out fiercely and drew it slowly in again with his teeth set and his face getting very red. Ha! That was awfully good muscle there, just what muscle ought to be—rounding up in your arm and as hard as iron to feel of. How tired he had been of the other boys’ bragging about Tellef, too. It seemed as if they never talked of anything else. That was why he had been out of patience yesterday. Well, he had shown them, once for all, who was the strongest. “But that’s not like having someone you belong to!” cried Jerry. “The Boss is all right but he isn’t a family. Why, the first thing I remember is selling papers in the Loop back in Chicago when I was hardly big enough to walk, and getting licked when I got home because I didn’t bring in enough pennies. Home!” the boy’s voice broke on the word. “It wasn’t a home!” But thoughts such as these occurred to him less and less as the distance between him and the East grew greater. By the time he dropped off the train at Williams, Arizona, where he changed to the day coach that would take him to the Grand Canyon, his mind was so full of the future that there was no room for the things he had left behind him. “Isn’t it my turn now, Johnny Blossom?”.