Mark's advent had followed the decease of two older boys and his mother
had proclaimed his preciousness by christening him Marquis de Lafayette.
Her other sons had borne the undistinguished appellations of relatives,
but this one, her consolation and her Benjamin, would be decked with the
flower of her fancy. Of the original bearer of the name she knew nothing.
Waiting on table at the Golden Nugget and later bearing children and
helping on the ranch had not left her time for historical study. When her
son, waking to the blight she had so innocently put upon him, asked her
where she had found the name, she had answered, "In a book," but beyond
that could give no data. When, unable to bear his shame, he had
abbreviated it to "Mark D.L." she had been hurt.

Otherwise he had not disappointed her. When she had crowned him with a
title she had felt that a high destiny awaited him and the event proved
it. After a youth on the ranch, Mark, at sixteen, grew restive, at
seventeen announced that he wanted an education and at eighteen packed
his grip and went to work his way through Stanford University. Old Man
Burrage made himself a bore at the crossroads store and the county fair
telling how his boy was waiting on table down to Stanford and doing
typewriting nights. Some boy, that!

When Mark came home on his vacations it was like the return of Ulysses
after his ten years' wandering--they couldn't look at him enough, or get
enough time to listen. His grammar was straightened out, his chin smooth,
the freckles gone from his hands, and yet he was just the same--no fancy
frills about _him_, Old Man Burrage bragged to his cronies. And then came
the coping stone--he told them he was going to be a lawyer. Some of the
neighbors laughed but others grew thoughtful and nodded commendingly.
Even on the balconies of the white houses in the wicker chairs under the
awnings Mark and his aspirations drew forth interested comment. Most of