ou _like_ to do it?"

"The world's work," I rejoined temperately. "It's got to be done."

"H'm!" he returned. "The world's a varied place. And its work is varied
too. This blessed town must be taught that."

Was he girding himself to be one of its teachers?

From that time on I resolved to take him patiently and good-humoredly: a
friend must bear a friend's infirmities.

III

I did not know, with precision, what phases of the world's work were
engaging Raymond's attention. I suppose he was adventuring, rather
vaguely, among the "liberal arts," though he probably saw, by this time,
that a full professional exercise of any of them was beyond his reach.
He was heard of as writing short essays and reviews for one or two
genteel publications, as making water-color tours through the none too
alluring suburbs, as composing minor pieces for a little musical society
which he had joined and which he wished to advance, and so on.
Acquaintances reported him at architectural exhibits and at
book-auctions--occasions neither numerous nor important. He lived on
alone in his father's house--expensively; too expensively, of course,
for it was an exacting place to keep up.

He was coming to be known in a small circle--but an influential one--as
a young man of wealth, culture, and good-will. But his wealth was less
than supposed, his culture was self-centred, and his good-will was
neither broad nor zealous.

However, the new day was coming when he could be turned to account--or
when, at least, people made the attempt.

This, however, does not mean philanthropy. That was barely dawning as a
social necessity. The few who were supporting charitable institutions
and were working in the recently evolved slums were neither conspicuous
nor fashionable. Nor does it mean political betterment. No efforts had
yet been successful in substituting for the city's executive incubus a
man of worthier type, nor was there yet any effective organization
founded on the assumption--which would have seemed remote and fantastic
indeed--that a city council could be improved. Parlor lectures on civics
were of course still farther in the future. Poor government was simply a
permanent disability, like weather, or lameness, or the fashions; folk
must get along as best they could in spite of it. The town remained a
chaos of maladministration and of non-administration; but when the
decencies are, for the time being, despaired of, one may still try for
the l