for you. Anyway, as far as length of service
goes, you've got stenographers here you've paid fifteen a week for five
years."

"I'm not going to argue with you, sir," said Mr. Barlow rising.

"Neither am I. I just wanted to tell you I'm quitting."

They stood for a moment looking at each other impassively and then Amory
turned and left the office.

*****

A LITTLE LULL

Four days after that he returned at last to the apartment. Tom was
engaged on a book review for The New Democracy on the staff of which he
was employed. They regarded each other for a moment in silence.

"Well?"

"Well?"

"Good Lord, Amory, where'd you get the black eye--and the jaw?"

Amory laughed.

"That's a mere nothing."

He peeled off his coat and bared his shoulders.

"Look here!"

Tom emitted a low whistle.

"What hit you?"

Amory laughed again.

"Oh, a lot of people. I got beaten up. Fact." He slowly replaced his
shirt. "It was bound to come sooner or later and I wouldn't have missed
it for anything."

"Who was it?"

"Well, there were some waiters and a couple of sailors and a few stray
pedestrians, I guess. It's the strangest feeling. You ought to get
beaten up just for the experience of it. You fall down after a while and
everybody sort of slashes in at you before you hit the ground--then they
kick you."

Tom lighted a cigarette.

"I spent a day chasing you all over town, Amory. But you always kept a
little ahead of me. I'd say you've been on some party."

Amory tumbled into a chair and asked for a cigarette.

"You sober now?" asked Tom quizzically.

"Pretty sober. Why?"

"Well, Alec has left. His family had been after him to go home and live,
so he--"

A spasm of pain shook Amory.

"Too bad."

"Yes, it is too bad. We'll have to get some one else if we're going to
stay here. The rent's going up."

"Sure. Get anybody. I'll leave it to you, Tom."

Amory walked into his bedroom. The first thing that met his glance was
a photograph of Rosalind that he had intended to have framed, propped
up against a mirror on his dresser. He looked at it unmoved. After
the vivid mental pictures of her that were his portion at present, the
portrait was curiously unreal. He went back into the study.

"Got a cardboard box?"

"No," answered Tom, puzzled. "Why should I have? Oh, yes--there may be
one in Alec's room."

Eventually Amory found what he was looking for and, returning to his
dresser, opened a drawer