Those men like me, Floyd; they have, I believe, a real affection for me; and I'm proud of it, and I'm going to show them that I trust them. I'm writing a thing now that will show them."
"What's the title of it?" Mrs. Halket asked.
Colonel Halket put his hands behind his back and expanded his broad chest braggingly. "It is the Autobiography of a Manufacturer."
"What!" cried Mrs. Halket.
"Exactly," responded her husband. "I am writing my life. It was suggested to me by Mr. Stark, the publisher. He came over from New York to discuss it with me. That was why he was here those two days last week."
"How on earth did he happen to think of such a thing!" Mrs. Halket exclaimed in wonder.
"Why," the Colonel answered with what modesty he could, "he said it was the biggest business of its kind in the United States—built up and controlled by one man—a typical American achievement—a part of American progress of the last forty years. It's known all over the country,—and he believes that people will be interested in hearing the story of it straight from the man who did it. I expect anyway I'll get a good deal of fun out of writing it. Better not speak of it to any one outside," he warned them.
"It's a very nice thing for you to be doing," said Mrs. Halket, with enthusiasm. "Mr. Stark is exactly right; it is something that ought to be written up."
Colonel Halket walked to the door of his study and there turned.
"There is one thing," he said, standing in the doorway with his white head thrown back, a figure of oratory; "in thinking back over the whole course of events, in going over records and letters and journals, I find nothing to conceal and nothing that needs apology or excuse. Such success as I have won has been won openly and honestly;
