and spiritually free. But oftenest we speak of
the people around us, the people on whom the injustices of a selfish
social system fall most heavily; and among them, sharing their
hardships, understanding their burdens, recognizing their limitations
and weaknesses, leading and directing them, he has found life in
losing it, and it now has meaning for him that is bigger and finer
than the best that earth can give.

Presently he stirred, drew a long breath as one awaking, but when he
spoke he did not turn toward me.

"I saw Mr. Thorne the night before he left with Harrie for his
friend's ranch in Arizona. He is going to give him another chance,
and it's pretty big of him to do it, but I doubt if anything will
come of it. Harrie belongs to a type of humanity beyond awakening to
a realization of moral degeneracy; a type that believes so
confidently in the divine right of class privilege that it believes
little else. Harrie's failure to appreciate the hideousness of
certain recent experiences has made them all the more keenly felt by
his brother. I have rarely seen a man suffer as the latter has
suffered in the past few days, but unless I am mistaken--"

The pen in my hand dropped upon the desk, and for a while I did not
speak. Then I got up and went toward David Guard, who had also
risen. "You mean--" The words died in my throat.

"That he is beginning to understand why you came to Scarborough
Square; to grasp the necessity of human contact for human
interpretation. He, too, is seeing himself, his life, his world,
from the viewpoint of Scarborough Square, and what he sees gives
neither peace nor pride nor satisfaction. He will never see so
clearly as you, perhaps, but certain cynicisms, certain intolerances,
certain indifferences and endurances will yield to keener perception
of the necessity for new purposes in life." He held out his hand.
"He needs you very much. I've got to go. Good-by."

For a long time I sat by the fire and watched it die. Was David
Guard right, or had it been in vain, the venture that had brought me
to Scarborough Square? I had told Selwyn I had come that I might see
from its vantage-ground the sort of person I was and what I was doing
with life; but it was also in the secret hope that he, too, might see
the kindred of all men to men, the need of each for each, that I had
come. If together we could stand between those of high and low
degree, between the rich and the poor, the str