h the patient smile of a swift,
keen mind at one that is slow and hard to make understand. "It isn't my
nature. But, if I'm resurrected, I'll seem to be mercenary until I get a
full suit of the only armor that's invulnerable in this world. Why, I
built my fort like a fool. It was impregnable except for one thing--one
obvious thing. It hadn't a supply of water. If I build again it'll be
round a spring--an income big enough for my needs and beyond anybody's
power to cut off."

Tetlow showed that he was much cheered by Norman's revived interest in
life. But he went away uneasy; for the last thing Norman said to him
was:

"Don't forget that address!"

XV

But it chanced that Norman met her in the street about an hour after
Tetlow's call.

He was on the way to lunch at the Lawyer's Club--one of those apparent
luxuries that are the dire and pitiful necessities of men in New York
fighting to maintain the semblance and the reputation of prosperity. It
must not be imagined by those who are here let into Norman's inmost
secrets that his appearance betrayed the depth to which he had fallen.
At least to the casual eye he seemed the same rich and powerful
personage. An expert might have got at a good part of the truth from his
somber eyes and haggard face, from the subtle transformation of the
former look of serene pride into the bravado of pretense. And as, in a
general way, the facts of his fall were known far and wide, all his
acquaintances understood that his seeming of undiminished success was
simply the familiar "bluff." Its advantage to him with them lay in its
raising a doubt as to just what degree of disaster it hid--no small
advantage. Nor was this "bluff" altogether for the benefit of the
outside world. It made his fall less hideously intolerable to himself.
In the bottom of his heart he knew that when drink and no money should
finally force him to release his relaxing hold upon his fashionable
clubs, upon luxurious attire and habits, he would suddenly and with
accelerated speed drop into the abyss--We have all caught glimpses of
that abyss--frayed fine linen cheaply laundered, a tie of one time
smartness showing signs of too long wear, a suit from the best kind of
tailor with shiny spot glistening here, patch peeping there, a queer
unkemptness about the hair and skin--these the beginnings of a road that
leads straight and short to the barrel-house, the park bench, and the
police station. Because, when a ma