hands
with his rough, strong clasp, he sat down in a chair by the window.
"They've made a lot of changes inside this house," he remarked. "Before
they added on that part at the back the dining-room used to be in the
basement. I remember doing some work down there when I was a young man
and there was going to be a wedding."

"Well, that long room is very little use to me," returned Vetch. "As far
as I am concerned they might have left the house as it was built." Then
turning abruptly to Stephen, he said sharply: "You heard Gershom's
parting shot at me, didn't you?" There was a gleam of quizzical humour
in his eyes, and Stephen found himself asking, as so many others had
asked before him, "Is the man serious, or is he making a joke? Does he
wish me to receive this as a confidence or with pretended hilarity?"

"Something about telling the crowd?" he answered. "Yes, I heard it."

"We were having a tussle," continued Vetch lightly. "The fat's in the
fire at last."

Stephen laughed drily. "Then I hope you will keep it there."

"You mean you would like an explosion?"

"I mean that anything that could clear up the situation would be
welcome."

At this Vetch turned to Darrow and observed whimsically: "He doesn't
seem to fancy our friend Gershom."

Darrow looked round with a smile from the window. "Well, there are times
when I don't myself," he confessed in his deliberate way. "Of all
bullies, your political bully is the worst. But he is not bad, he is
just foolish. His heart is set on this general strike, and he can't set
his heart on anything without losing his head." As the old man turned
his face back to the sunset, the strong bold lines of his profile
reminded Stephen of the impassive features of an Egyptian carving. Was
this the vague resemblance that had baffled him ever since he had
entered the room?

"To tell the truth," said Stephen frankly, "the fellow strikes me as
particularly obnoxious; but I may be prejudiced."

"I think you are," responded Vetch. "I owe Gershom a great deal. He was
useful to me once, and I recognize my debt; but the fact remains, that I
don't owe him or any other man the shirt on my back!" As he met
Stephen's glance he lowered his voice, and added in a tone of boyish
candour that was very winning in spite of his colloquial speech: "I like
your face, and I'm going to talk frankly to you."

"You may," replied the young man impulsively. It was impossible to
resist the human quality, the