THE GAY COCKADE
He was a great little man—you can tell from his eyes—they seem to speak at times."
"To you?"
"Yes. Of how he hated to be little, and how he triumphed when fame came at last."
"I hate to be little"
It was the first time that he had ever owned it. Even as a tiny boy he had brazened it out, boasting of his mental achievements and slurring the weakness of his stunted body.
"I know," she had shut the kitchen door behind her, and they were standing in the hallway alone, "I know. Every man must want to be big."
She was only the girl who had waited on the table, but as she stood there, looking at him with luminous eyes, he burned with dull resentment, envying the blond boy who had sprawled at the head of the supper table. After all, it was to such a man as Otto Brand that this woman would some day turn.
He spoke almost roughly: "Size isn't everything." She flushed. "How rude you must think me," she said; "but I have been so interested in dissecting your grandfather that I forgot—you"
Van Alen was moved by an impulse that he could not control, a primitive impulse that was not in line with his usual repression.
"I am tempted to make you remember me," he
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