on of
Clayton had cut him like some biting acid; but he had worked on, trying
to reassure himself with the argument that he was a mere agent, devoid
of personal responsibility. But it had been hard, and when Edith, after
her custom, had asked to see it, he had said:

"Oh, you don't want to see it; it's no good."

"Is it of--him?" she had asked.

And when he nodded she had gone away without another word. Now, as he
hurried through the crowded streets, he was conscious that it was no
good indeed; and he was divided between the artist's regret and the
friend's joy in the fact. But it made him tremble. Was his hand to
forget its cunning? And then, suddenly, he heard a familiar voice, and
there beside him, with his hand on his shoulder, stood the mayor.

"Why, Neil, my boy, how are you?" he said, and he took Kittrell's hand
as warmly as ever. For a moment Kittrell was relieved, and then his
heart sank; for he had a quick realization that it was the coward within
him that felt the relief, and the man the sickness. If Clayton had
reproached him, or cut him, it would have made it easier; but Clayton
did none of these things, and Kittrell was irresistibly drawn to the
subject himself.

"You heard of my--new job?" he asked.

"Yes," said Clayton, "I heard."

"Well--" Kittrell began.

"I'm sorry," Clayton said.

"So was I," Kittrell hastened to say. "But I felt it--well, a duty, some
way--to Edith. You know--we--need the money." And he gave the cynical
laugh that went with the argument.

"What does _she_ think? Does she feel that way about it?"

Kittrell laughed, not cynically now, but uneasily and with
embarrassment, for Clayton's blue eyes were on him, those eyes that
could look into men and understand them so.

"Of course you know," Kittrell went on nervously, "there is nothing
personal in this. We newspaper fellows simply do what we are told; we
obey orders like soldiers, you know. With the policy of the paper we
have nothing to do. Just like Dick Jennings, who was a red-hot
free-trader and used to write free-trade editorials for the _Times_--he
went over to the _Telegraph_, you remember, and writes all those
protection arguments."

The mayor did not seem to be interested in Dick Jennings, or in the
ethics of his profession.

"Of course, you know I'm for you, Mr. Clayton, just exactly as I've
always been. I'm going to vote for you."

This did not seem to interest the mayor, either.

"And, maybe, you know--