e every minute of the day when he isn't doing
the work they give him or converting the staff.

"You'll say he's insane. I don't know whether he is or not. I don't know
whether they'll say so, the psychopathic experts they've let loose on
him. I simply think he found the difficulties of his way too much for
him and he revolted. He tried to right the balance of some of the most
mysteriously devilish inequalities a poorly equipped chap ever found
himself up against (strange forces that struck at him in the dark) and
being ignorant and at the same time moved by more volts of energy than
even the experts will be able to compute, he took the only path he saw,
slam-bang into the thick of the fight. As to his spouting his Bible like
a geyser--well, if he believes in it as the actual word of God, a word
addressed to him, why shouldn't he spout it? And if it tells him that,
after certain formulae of repentance, his sins shall be whiter than
snow, why shouldn't he believe that and say so with the simplicity he
does? All the same, I don't think he's exactly the person to wander at
large, and I've no idea what will happen when his good conduct and
general mildness come it over the psychiatrists. I grin over it
sometimes, all by myself, for I remember Old Crow and Billy Jones and I
wonder if the logic of inherited events is going to herd Tenney and me
together into the hut to live out our destiny together. But I don't
think so, chiefly because I want to keep my finger in this pie of the
French Fund and because it would distress Nan. Distress you, too, I
guess! And me!

"Now, as to Nan. You gave it to me straight from the shoulder, and I've
got to give you one back. I agree with you. There's no hope for you.
She's enormously fond of you, but it's not _that kind_. And Nan's
old-fashioned enough to insist on that or nothing. I was so meddlesome
as to bring it up with her before you went away. She put me in my place,
told me practically it was nobody's business but hers--and yours--and
that she'd already talked it out with you and that you're a 'dear' and
you 'saw.' So, old man, as you say, that's that. _Finis._ But when,
after I've butted in, you butt in and accuse me of not 'seeing,' so far
as I myself am concerned, of holding her off, of being unfair to her,
all the rest of it (very intemperate letter, you must own) I've got to
give you your quietus as Nan gave me mine. First place, you say, with a
cheek that makes my backbone crawl,