usly about
it. I wasn't sure of half of what I said."

"You puzzle me," said the big man, "but you're all alike. They say
Bernard Shaw, in spite of his doctrines, is the most exacting of all
dramatists about his royalties. To the last farthing."

"Well," said Amory, "I simply state that I'm a product of a versatile
mind in a restless generation--with every reason to throw my mind and
pen in with the radicals. Even if, deep in my heart, I thought we were
all blind atoms in a world as limited as a stroke of a pendulum, I and
my sort would struggle against tradition; try, at least, to displace
old cants with new ones. I've thought I was right about life at various
times, but faith is difficult. One thing I know. If living isn't a
seeking for the grail it may be a damned amusing game."

For a minute neither spoke and then the big man asked:

"What was your university?"

"Princeton."

The big man became suddenly interested; the expression of his goggles
altered slightly.

"I sent my son to Princeton."

"Did you?"

"Perhaps you knew him. His name was Jesse Ferrenby. He was killed last
year in France."

"I knew him very well. In fact, he was one of my particular friends."

"He was--a--quite a fine boy. We were very close."

Amory began to perceive a resemblance between the father and the
dead son and he told himself that there had been all along a sense of
familiarity. Jesse Ferrenby, the man who in college had borne off the
crown that he had aspired to. It was all so far away. What little boys
they had been, working for blue ribbons--

The car slowed up at the entrance to a great estate, ringed around by a
huge hedge and a tall iron fence.

"Won't you come in for lunch?"

Amory shook his head.

"Thank you, Mr. Ferrenby, but I've got to get on."

The big man held out his hand. Amory saw that the fact that he had known
Jesse more than outweighed any disfavor he had created by his opinions.
What ghosts were people with which to work! Even the little man insisted
on shaking hands.

"Good-by!" shouted Mr. Ferrenby, as the car turned the corner and
started up the drive. "Good luck to you and bad luck to your theories."

"Same to you, sir," cried Amory, smiling and waving his hand.

*****

"OUT OF THE FIRE, OUT OF THE LITTLE ROOM"

Eight hours from Princeton Amory sat down by the Jersey roadside and
looked at the frost-bitten country. Nature as a rather coarse phenomenon
composed largely of fl