"I'm not going to preach, if you're expecting that. Ordinarily, if a man
insists on making a fool of himself, I let him alone."

"Why make an exception of me?"

"One reason is that I happen to like you. The other reason is that,
whether you admit it or not, you are acting like a young idiot, and are
putting the responsibility on the shoulders of some one else."

"She is responsible, isn't she?"

"Not in the least. How old are you, Joe?"

"Twenty-three, almost."

"Exactly. You are a man, and you are acting like a bad boy. It's a
disappointment to me. It's more than that to Sidney."

"Much she cares! She's going to marry Wilson, isn't she?"

"There is no announcement of any engagement."

"She is, and you know it. Well, she'll be happy--not! If I'd go to her
to-night and tell her what I know, she'd never see him again." The idea,
thus born in his overwrought brain, obsessed him. He returned to it
again and again. Le Moyne was uneasy. He was not certain that the boy's
statement had any basis in fact. His single determination was to save
Sidney from any pain.

When Joe suddenly announced his inclination to go out into the country
after all, he suspected a ruse to get rid of him, and insisted on going
along. Joe consented grudgingly.

"Car's at Bailey's garage," he said sullenly. "I don't know when I'll
get back."

"That won't matter." K.'s tone was cheerful. "I'm not sleeping, anyhow."

That passed unnoticed until they were on the highroad, with the car
running smoothly between yellowing fields of wheat. Then:--

"So you've got it too!" he said. "We're a fine pair of fools. We'd both
be better off if I sent the car over a bank."

He gave the wheel a reckless twist, and Le Moyne called him to time
sternly.

They had supper at the White Springs Hotel--not on the terrace, but in
the little room where Carlotta and Wilson had taken their first meal
together. K. ordered beer for them both, and Joe submitted with bad
grace.

But the meal cheered and steadied him. K. found him more amenable to
reason, and, gaining his confidence, learned of his desire to leave the
city.

"I'm stuck here," he said. "I'm the only one, and mother yells blue
murder when I talk about it. I want to go to Cuba. My uncle owns a farm
down there."

"Perhaps I can talk your mother over. I've been there."

Joe was all interest. His dilated pupils became more normal, his
restless hands grew quiet. K.'s even voice, the picture he drew o