Four months had drifted by; again the University was in full swing.

Of an evening in late October at this time, in the common living-room which joined the two private rooms in the suite occupied by himself and Darley Roberts, Stephen Armstrong was alone. It was now nearly eleven o’clock, and he had come in directly after dinner, ample time to have prepared his work for the next day; but as yet he had made no move in that direction. On the roll-top desk, with its convenient drop light, was an armful of reference books and two late scientific magazines. They were still untouched, however, bound tight by the strap with which they had been carried.

But one sign of his prolonged presence was visible in the room. That, a loose pile of manuscript alternately hastily scribbled and painfully exact, told of the varying moods under which it had been produced;—that and a tiny pile of 88 cigarette stumps in the nearby ash-tray, some scarcely lit and others burned to a tiny stump, which had become the manuscripts’ invariable companion.

For more than an hour now, however, he had not been writing. The night was frosty and he had lit the gas in the imitation fireplace. The open flame had proved compellingly fascinating and, once stretched comfortably in the big Turkish rocker before it, duty had called less and less insistently and there he had remained. For half an hour thereafter he had scarcely stirred; then, without warning, he had risen. On the mantel above the grate was a collection of articles indigenous to a bachelor’s den: a box half filled with cigars, a jar of tobacco, a collection of pipes, a cut-glass decanter shaded dull red in the electric light. It was toward the latter that he turned, not by chance but with definite purpose, and without hesitation poured a whiskey glass level full. There was no attendant siphon or water convenient and he drank the liquor raw and returned the glass to its place. It was not the quasi-Æsthetic tippling of comradery but the deliberate drinking of one with a cause, real or fancied, therefor and for its effect; and as he drank he shivered involuntarily with the instinctive aversion to raw 89 liquor of one to whom the action has not become habitual. Afterward he remained standing for a moment while his eyes wandered aimlessly around the familiar room. As he did so his glance fell upon the pile of text-books, mute reminder of a lecture yet unprepared, and for an instant he stood undecided. With a characteristic shrug of distaste and annoyance, of dismissal as well, he resumed his seat, his slippered feet spread wide to catch the heat.

Another half-hour passed so, the room silent save for the deliberate ticking of a big wall clock and the purr of the gas in the grate; at last came an interruption: the metallic clicking of a latch key, the tramp of a man’s feet in the vestibule, and Darley Roberts entered. A moment after entering the newcomer paused attentive, his glance taking in every detail of the all too familiar scene; deliberately, as usual, he hung up his top-coat and hat.

“Taking it comfortable-like, I see,” he commented easily as he pulled up a second chair before the grate. “Knocked off for the evening, have you?”

“Knocked off?” Armstrong shrugged. “I hardly know. I haven’t knocked on yet. I’m stuck in the mud, so to speak.” 90

Roberts drew the customary black cigar from his waistcoat pocket and clipped the end methodically. As he did so, apparently by chance, his glance swept the mantel above the grate, and, returning, took in the testimony of the desk with its unopened text-books and pile of scattered manuscript. Equally without haste he lit a match and puffed until the weed was well aglow.

“Any assistance a friend can give?” he proffered directly. “We all get tangled at times, I guess. At least every one I know does.”

Armstrong’s gaze left the fire and fastened on his companion peculiarly.

“Do you yourself?” he asked bluntly.

“Often.”

“That’s news. I fancied you were immune. What, if I may ask, do you do at such times to effect your release?”

“Go to bed, ordinarily, and sleep while the mud is drying up. There’s usually a big improvement by morning.”

“And when there isn’t—”

Roberts smiled, the tight-jawed smile of a fighter.

“It’s a case of pull, then; a pull as though Satan himself were just behind and in hot pursuit. 91 Things are bound to give if one pulls hard enough.”

Armstrong’s face returned to the grate. His slippered feet spread wider than before.

“I’m not much good at pulling,” he commented.

Roberts sat a moment in silence.

“I repeat, if I can be of any assistance—” he commented. “No butting in, you understand.”

“Yes, I understand, and thank you sincerely. I doubt if you can help any though—if any one can. It’s the old complaint mostly.”

“Publishers who fail to appreciate, I gather.”

“Partly.”

“And what more, may I ask?”

Armstrong stretched back listlessly, his eyes half closed.

“Everything, it seems, to me to-night, every cursed thing!” Restless in spite of his seeming inertia he straightened nervously. His fingers, slender almost as those of a woman, opened and closed intermittently. “First of all, the manuscript of my new book came back this morning, the one I’ve been working on for the last year. The expressman delivered it just after you left. That started the day wrong. Then came a succession 92 of little things. Breakfast, with coffee stone-cold, and soggy rolls; I couldn’t swallow a mouthful. Afterward I cut myself shaving, and I was late for lecture, and there was no styptic in the house, and I got down to my class with a collar looking as though I’d had my throat cut. The lecture room was chilly, beastly chilly, and about half the men had colds. Every twentieth word I’d say some one would sneeze and interrupt. On top of this one chap on the front row had neglected to complete his toilet and sat there for half an hour manicuring his nails, every blessed one of the ten; I counted them, while I was trying to explain proximal principles. At noon we had some more of that abominable soup with carrots in it. Carrots! I detest the name and the whole family; and we’ve had them every day now for a week. After lunch another big thing. I’d applied for position as lecturer in the summer school, applied early. The president met me to-day and remarked casually, very casually, that the man for the place had already been selected. He was very sorry of course, but—Back at the department I found that Elrod, one of my assistants, was sick, and of necessity I had to take his place in the laboratory. Inside half an hour some bumpkin dropped an eight-ounce 93 bottle of sulphuretted hydrogen. It spattered everywhere—and the smell! I feel like holding my nose yet. Later the water got stopped up, and for love or money no plumber—” The speaker paused, his shoulders lifted eloquently. “But what’s the use of itemizing. It’s been the same all day long, one petty rasp after another. To cap the climax Elice is out of town. She’s got an English class in a high-school in a dinky little burg out about twenty miles and goes out there every Thursday. I forgot this was the day until I pulled the knocker. That’s all, I guess, except that I’m here.”

Roberts smiled, the deliberate smile of tolerant understanding.

“One of those days, wasn’t it,” he commented sympathetically.

“Yes,” shortly, “and it seems lately as though that was the only kind I had—seems as though it was not one but an endless succession.... It’s all so petty, so confoundedly petty and irritating, and the outlook for the future seems so similar.” Of a sudden the speaker arose, selected a bit of rice paper from the mantel, and began rolling a cigarette swiftly. The labor complete he paused, the little white cylinder between his fingers. A moment he stood so, irresolute or intentionally 94 deliberate; without apology or comment he poured a second glass of liquor even full from the red decanter and drank it in silence. “On the square, Darley,” he blazed, “I expected a lot from that last book, banked on it; and it’s gone flat, like the others.” He resumed his seat and the cigarette flamed. “I worked hard on it, did my level best. I don’t believe I can ever do any better—and now it’s failed miserably. It knocks my pins clean out from under me.”

For a time the room was quiet. Roberts did not smile this time, or offer sympathy. The occasion for that had gone by. He merely waited in the fulness of knowledge, until the first hot flood of resentment had cooled, until the inevitable reaction that followed was on. Deliberate, direct to the point, he struck.

“You’re satisfied I’m your friend, are you?” he asked abruptly.

The other looked his surprise.

“Emphatically, yes. One of the few I have—it seems to-night.”

“And I couldn’t possibly have any selfish motive in—in tearing you loose from your moorings?”

“None whatever that I can imagine. Why?” 95

“You won’t take offence either if I advise plainly?”

“No, I’m not a fool—yet. What is it, Darley,—your advice?”

Again Roberts paused, deliberately now, unemotionally.

“My advice then is to chuck it, for to-day and to-morrow and all time: the University, this whole artistic rainbow, chuck it as though it were hot, red hot, and get down to earth. Is that brutally plain enough?”

Unconsciously Armstrong had sat up, expectant. A moment he remained so, taking in the thought, all its implications, its suddenly suggested possibilities; as the full revolutionary significance of the idea came home of a sudden he dropped back in his place. With an effort he smiled.

“To answer your question: yes, I think that is brutally frank enough,” he said. A moment longer he remained quiet, thinking, the idea expanding. “Chuck it,” he repeated half to himself. “It sounds sensible certainly, to-night particularly.” New thoughts came, thoughts like the sifting of dead ashes. “Chuck it,” feverishly, “and admit incompetency, cowardice, failure absolute!” For the third time he was on his feet. 96 “No, never. I’ll go to the devil first.” His fingers were on the red decanter, his brown eyes aflame. “I’ll—”

“Armstrong!”

No answer, although the fingers halted.

“Steve!”

Still no answer; but bit by bit the hand retreated.

“Steve,” repeated, “sit down, please; please, I say. Let’s talk this matter over a little rationally. People have changed their minds before, some few billions of them—and made good afterward too. Have a little patience, man, and sit down. I have a proposition to make to you.”

Reluctantly Armstrong obeyed. His face was still unnaturally pale and he was breathing hard, but he obeyed. Back in his seat he waited a second, uncertain; with an effort he faced his companion fairly.

“I—realize I’m an ass, Darley,” he began, hesitantly, “and that this sort of thing is melodramatically cheap.” The white had left his face now and words were coming more easily. “I won’t attempt to apologize, I just simply admit the truth. I’ve lost my grip this evening.”

“Forget it.” The voice was commonplace. “Just forget it.” 97

“I can’t; I’m not built that way; but I wish you would. If there’s one thing I hate more than another it’s cheap heroics.”

“I know it—and understand. Let it go at that.”

“Thank you. All right.” It was matter of fact, but such with an effort. “Let’s hear your proposition.”

As usual Roberts wasted no preface.

“The suggestion is merely in line with what I said before. In so many words, it’s to throw up this place of yours in the University and get into business. You’ll come into contact with realities that way and realities are eternally opposed to—cobwebs. You’ll be happier and more contented, I’m positive, once you get adjusted.” He gave his listener a keen look. “I’ve got an opening in mind right now. Say the word and I’ll have the place ready for you the day they appoint your successor in the University. Do you care to consider it?”

“Consider, yes, certainly.” Armstrong had lit a pipe and puffed at it shortly. “It’s white of you too to offer it. I know it’s a good thing or you wouldn’t make the suggestion.”

“It’s not as good as Graham’s offer,” refuted the other evenly, “places like that don’t dangle 98 loose every day; but it will pay you better than a university chair, and it offers possibilities—you anticipate probably,—it’s in connection with the new electric line. Between ourselves, Armstrong, this system is going to be a big thing when it’s complete. This is a straight tip. I happen to be in a position to know. I also happen to be in position to put you very near the basement, providing you wish to come in with us unhampered.” The voice halted meaningly. “That’s all I’m at liberty to say now, until you are really in and prove unmistakably—I’ll have several things more to tell you then.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Darley,” he said slowly, “or take offence, please; but—but, to scrape off the veneer, you don’t trust me very far even yet, do you?”

There was a moment of silence, time for second thought.

“I can’t misunderstand what you mean,” said Roberts; “but unfortunately there are others besides yourself for me to consider.” The voice was patient, unnaturally so. “I’ve already talked more than I should.”

“If I accepted,” unobservant, Armstrong’s mind was running on in its own channel, “the place you mean would take my entire time. In 99 a way it would be like Graham’s offer. I’d be compelled—you catch the idea, don’t you?”

“Yes.” This time the other did not amplify.

“You know why I refused that proposition before. We beat the brush pretty thoroughly at that time.” It was declination involved, but declination nevertheless unmistakable. “It’s a rocky road I’m on, and with occasional mudholes such as—well—such as I fell into to-night; but somehow I can’t leave it. I won’t try to defend it this time. I’m not in the mood. But when it comes to breaking free, taking a new trail—I simply can’t do it, can’t!”

“Very well.” The voice was non-committal. Waiting, Armstrong thought there would be more to follow, a comment at least; but there was none. Roberts merely leaned back more comfortably in his place, remained so for a minute while like smoke the former subject faded from the horizon. Armstrong grew conscious that he was being observed intently.

“By the way,” introduced Roberts, abruptly, “I’ve decided to give up my residence here in the suburbs. They’re remodelling the office building I’m in, you know: adding another floor, an elevator, and one thing and another. I’ve rented a suite in the addition, to be fitted 100 out after some ideas of my own. They’ll begin on it inside a week.”

For a moment Armstrong said nothing.

“I’m not particularly surprised,” he commented at last, “that is, not surprised that you’re going to quit me. It was merely a question of time until this place we’re living in here got too small for you. When will you go?”

“The lease gives them a month to deliver.”

“A month. All right.” There was frost forming in the tone. “I’ll try and lassoo another mate in that time. The place isn’t particularly pretentious, but, nevertheless, I can’t afford to inhabit it alone.” He smiled, but it was not his customary companionable smile. “You’re on the incline and trudging up steadily, aren’t you, old man?”

For an instant Roberts returned the look with the analytic one Armstrong knew so well.

“I trust so,” he returned. A pause, again sufficient for second thought. “Looking into the immediate future I see a lot of grinding to be done, and I need machinery to do it with. This down town move is merely part of the campaign.”

“I see,” Armstrong ignored the explanation, even perverted it intentionally. “And the next installation of machinery will be in stone out on 101 Nob Hill among the other imitation colonial factories. When’s that to be, if I may ask?”

Roberts said nothing.

“When’s it to be, Darley?” repeated Armstrong. “You have it in mind, haven’t you?”

This time Roberts turned, his eyes unsmiling, his lips tight.

“When have I offended you, and how, Armstrong?” he countered directly. “Tell me that.”

“Offended!” Roused out of his ill humor Armstrong flushed penitently. “You’ve never offended, never. On the contrary, you’re only too patient with my tantrums.” He jerked himself together impulsively. “I didn’t mean anything by that at all. I’m blooming glad to see you prosper. I always knew you would.”

“The imitation colonial—factory then—” Roberts recalled slowly.

“Just a dream, a fancy, an air castle.”

“No, a reality—I hope.”

“What?—a miracle! But how about the tape line?”

“I repeat: I hope. Hope always refers to the future—the indefinite future.”

Armstrong smiled broadly, shrugged. Banter tingled on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason remained unspoken. Abruptly as it had 102 arisen the subject vanished beneath the surface. Merely the memory of that suggestion of things to come remained.

In the silence Roberts glanced at the clock and arose preparatory to bed. Watching the familiar action, a new thought sprang full-fledged to Armstrong’s brain, a sudden appreciation of the unconscious dependence he had grown to feel on the other man. The thought took words.

“On the square, old man,” he said soberly, “I hate to have you go. It’ll be beastly lonely here without you to sit down on me and make me feel foolish.” He gestured in mute eloquence. “It means the end between you and me the moment you pack your trunk. We may both put up a bluff—but just the same it’s the end.”

Roberts halted thoughtfully where he stood.

“The end? I wonder—and who will be to blame?”

“Neither of us,” swiftly. “It was inevitable. We’ll simply drift apart. You recall I prophesied once before—”

“Yes, I recall.”

Armstrong started involuntarily. Another memory had intruded.

“You remember—something else I predicted, do you?” 103

A slow smile formed on Roberts’ lips.

“You said that sometime we’d hate each other, in the same measure that we were friends now.”

“Yes; and it’s so. I feel it; why I don’t know, can’t imagine—yet. But it will come about as surely as to-morrow will come.” He looked at his companion steadily, unsmilingly prophetic. “Good-bye, friend Darley Roberts. You’re going—and you won’t return. Good-bye.”

An instant Roberts stood as he was, motionless; then he turned swiftly.

“You’re morbid to-night, Armstrong,” he returned slowly. “In the morning the sun will shine and the world will look very different. As for my leaving—you’ll find another man who’ll make a lot better mate than I am. I’m not a good fellow in the least.”

“I know it,” bluntly. “That’s why you’re good for me.” Unconsciously his glance travelled to the mantel, and shifted hurriedly. “I’m a kind of clinging vine, I guess. To change the figure of speech, I need a stiff rudder to keep me headed straight to windward. I’ll—miss you,” simply.

Roberts hesitated a moment, choosing his words carefully. 104

“We can’t very well always be together, though,” he suggested at last slowly.

“No, we can’t. I realize it. It’s—Pardon an ass and go to bed, old man.”

For perhaps half a minute Roberts stood there, the fire from the open grate lighting his face, his big capable hands loose at his sides. He made no motion to leave, nor for a space to speak; characteristically abrupt, he turned, facing his companion directly.

“Armstrong,” he said, “I can’t work up to things delicately and have them seemingly happen by chance. Nature didn’t endow me with that ability. I have to come out with a broadside shot or not at all. I’m going to do so now. Why don’t you get married? Miss Gleason will be a better rudder immeasurably than I am.”

Involuntarily Armstrong flushed, slowly the color faded. He said nothing.

“I know I’m intruding and offending,” went on the other; “you show that, but you said a bit ago I was your friend and the thing is on my mind. Believe this at least: I was never more your friend than when I advise the move now. I repeat: why don’t you get married, at once?”

“Why? You know why, Darley. It’s the 105 old reason—the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. They still hold the fort.”

“No, not for you—unless you let them. Forgive another broadside. If you get pinched temporarily let a friend be of service. I’m not afraid to trust you. Anyway I chance it. We all have to chance something for happiness. Don’t delay any longer, man, don’t!”

“Don’t?” Of a sudden Armstrong glanced up and met the other’s look steadily. “Don’t?” he repeated. “Why do you say that, please?”

A second Roberts met the lifted questioning eyes.

“Because I meant it,” he said. “Please don’t ask me to say more.”

“But I do ask it,” pressed Armstrong, stubbornly. “You meant something particular by that, something I have the right to know.”

“Won’t you consider what I suggested,” asked Roberts in a low tone; “merely consider it?”

“Perhaps after you tell me what you meant. Why ‘don’t,’ please?”

On the cosy room fell silence,—the silence of midnight; the longest silence of that interrupted understanding. For a long while Roberts stood precisely as he was; he started walking, 106 measuring the breadth of the room and back again; something the watcher had never known him to do before, never in the years of acquaintance, no matter what the uncertainty or difficulty confronting. A second time he followed the trail back and forth, until, watching him, the spectator felt at last something like terror of the thing he had deliberately conjured and that now was inevitably coming very near; for at last Roberts had halted, was standing over him.

“In all the time that I’ve known you, Armstrong,” said a voice, a new voice, “you’ve asked my advice repeatedly, asked the reason for it, insisted that I explain minutely, and disregarded it absolutely. I’ve tried to be honest with you each time, tried to be of service; and still you’ve disregarded. It’s been the same to-night, the old, old story. I’ve been dead in earnest, tried to be unselfish, and still you question and doubt and insist.” A second the voice halted, the speaker glancing down, not analytically or whimsically, as usual, but of a sudden icy cold. “You insist now, against my request, and once more I’m going to humor you. You wish to know what I meant by ‘don’t’ delay. I meant just this, man, just this and no more: Chances for happiness come to us all sometime in our 107 lives. They knock at our door and wait for us to open. Sometimes, not often, they knock twice; but they don’t keep on knocking forever. There are a multitude of other doors in the world and, after a while, opportunity, our opportunity, goes by, and never returns; no matter how loudly we call. Is that clear enough, man?”

“In the abstract, yes.” Armstrong’s lips were dry and he moistened them unconsciously. “In the concrete, though, as it applies to my—happiness—”

“God, you’re an egotist, Armstrong! Is it possible you can’t understand, or won’t?”

Slowly, with an effort, Armstrong arose; his face of a sudden gray, his hands fastened to the back of his chair.

“You mean to suggest that Elice,” he began, “that Elice—You dare to suggest that to me?”

“Dare?”

They looked at each other, not three feet apart.

“Dare?” Roberts repeated.

“Darley!”

“Don’t! I’ve argued, advised, used persuasion—everything. Take that as a warning if 108 you wish, or disregard it if you choose. I’m done.”

On the chair back the fingers locked tighter and tighter, until they grew white. Tardy comprehension was coming at last.

“You mean to warn me,” Armstrong scarcely recognized his own voice, “that you yourself—”

“Yes, I myself. That’s why I warned you.”

“You yourself,” he repeated, “whom I introduced and took with me as my friend, my best friend—you—Judas!”

“Re-introduced.” Roberts’ eyes were as steady as his voice. “Re-introduced—mark that. Miss Gleason has forgotten, but she was the first girl I met in the University, when I had one suit of frayed clothes to my name, and my stock was below par. Miss Gleason has forgotten, I say, had no reason to remember; but I—Nor—Judas; drop that for all time.... I’ve warned you, you understand.”

“Darley!”

“No—Roberts. I’m no hypocrite. You’ve precipitated this understanding, compelled it; but perhaps it’s as well. I’ll move out of here to-morrow instead of in a month, if you wish. Do you wish it?”

Bit by bit the hands on the chair back, that 109 had been so tense, loosened, and Armstrong sank back in his seat, his face turned away.

“I don’t know—yet.” His fingers were twitching aimlessly. “I want to think.... You, of all men, you!” He turned, his eyes ablaze, his voice thick. “Yes, go to-morrow, damn you! and as for your warning, do as you please, get between us if you can.” He laughed raspingly. “I’ll delay—dangle, you catch that—as long as I see fit. I dare you.”

An instant Roberts stood as he was; slowly and without a word he started for his room. As he did so Armstrong arose swiftly and, all but gropingly, his hand sought the red decanter on the mantel. “I dare you,” he repeated blindly, “dare you!”

“Armstrong!” Roberts had halted, looking back. “Not for any one’s sake but your own—think a second, man.”

“To hell with you and thought!”

Without a sound this time or another glance the door to Roberts’ room opened and closed and Armstrong was alone.