for Ruth, but that he had a positive
dislike for her. Martin could not understand this. It was a bit of phenomena
that he could not correlate with all the rest of the phenomena in the universe.
But nevertheless he felt sorry for the young fellow because of the great lack in
his nature that prevented him from a proper appreciation of Ruth's fineness and
beauty. They rode out into the hills several Sundays on their wheels, and Martin
had ample opportunity to observe the armed truce that existed between Ruth and
Olney. The latter chummed with Norman, throwing Arthur and Martin into company
with Ruth, for which Martin was duly grateful.
    Those Sundays were great days for Martin, greatest because he was with Ruth,
and great, also, because they were putting him more on a par with the young men
of her class. In spite of their long years of disciplined education, he was
finding himself their intellectual equal, and the hours spent with them in
conversation was so much practice for him in the use of the grammar he had
studied so hard. He had abandoned the etiquette books, falling back upon
observation to show him the right things to do. Except when carried away by his
enthusiasm, he was always on guard, keenly watchful of their actions and
learning their little courtesies and refinements of conduct.
    The fact that Spencer was very little read was for some time a source of
surprise to Martin. »Herbert Spencer,« said the man at the desk in the library,
»oh, yes, a great mind.« But the man did not seem to know anything of the
content of that great mind. One evening, at dinner, when Mr. Butler was there,
Martin turned the conversation upon Spencer. Mr. Morse bitterly arraigned the
English philosopher's agnosticism, but confessed that he had not read »First
Principles«; while Mr. Butler stated that he had no patience with Spencer, had
never read a line of him, and had managed to get along quite well without him.
Doubts arose in Martin's mind, and had he been less strongly individual he would
have accepted the general opinion and given Herbert Spencer up. As it was, he
found Spencer's explanation of things convincing; and, as he phrased it to
himself, to give up Spencer would be equivalent to a navigator throwing the
compass and chronometer overboard. So Martin went on into a thorough study of
evolution, mastering more and more the subject himself, and being convinced by
the corroborative testimony of a thousand independent writers. The more he
studied, the more vistas he