would do something if he were pushed hard enough. So the good people pushed and trusted and pushed.
To those brutal enough to seek direct speech about it with Solon, he professed to be awaiting only the right opportunity for a brilliant stroke, and he counselled patience.
To me alone, I think, did he confide his utter lack of inspiration. And yet, though he seemed to affect entire candor with me, I was, strangely enough, puzzled by some reserve that still lurked beneath his manner. I hoped this meant that he was slowly finding a way too good to be told as yet, even to his best friend.
"Something must be done, Cal," he said, on one occasion, "but you see, here's the trouble—she's a woman and I'm a man."
"That's a famous old trouble," I remarked.
"And she's got to live, though Wes' Keyts says he isn't so sure of that—he says I'm lucky enough to have an earthquake made up especially for this case—and if she lives, she must have ways and means. And then I have my own troubles. Say, I never knew I was so careless about my language until she came along. She says only an iron will can correct it. Did you ever notice how she says 'i—ron' the way people say it when they're reading poetry out loud? I'll bet, if he had her help, the author of 'One Hundred Common Errors' could take an Argus and run his list up to a hundred and fifty in no time. She keeps finding common errors there that I'll bet this fellow
