Robert,
who owned a really keen mind.

"Er--it was just coming on."

"No bad news, old chap?" Vining said, crossing his legs the other way.

Anthony shook his head and smiled again, indicating suffering that was
not all simulated.

"No, just the--er--headache," he said. "Comes on suddenly, you know, and
settled in the back of my head and neck. There is only one thing that
can be done for it and that is a steady massage. Perhaps you'd do that
for me, Johnson?"

"Sure," said Johnson Boller, whose eyes shot two questions to the
second. "Sit down and we can go on talking while I rub."

"Well, I have to lie down for this," Anthony explained. "On the bed, you
know, and it's--well, it is likely to take an hour or more. You wouldn't
care to wait around, Bob?"

Mr. Vining gazed steadily at him. No refined intuition was necessary to
tell Anthony that it was not his morning for tactful dismissals. This
effort, evidently, had carried the delicate touch of a blow from a
baseball bat, for Robert, flushing slightly, spoke with unpleasant
crispness:

"No, I couldn't wait, I'm sure. And while I don't understand it, of
course, I'm sure I'm sorry to have intruded. Good-by."

"You--haven't intruded," Anthony cried. "Only----"

"Well, don't bother explaining," said young Mr. Vining. "I beg your
pardon for breaking in and--good morning."

Wherewith he stalked out to the corridor, removed his hat from the rack
without the assistance of Wilkins and, opening the door himself, closed
it after him with a careful lack of force that was more expressive than
any slam.

"Gone off mad!" Johnson Boller said.

"I can't help it!" Anthony said miserably.

"Nice chap, too! Too bad to offend him that way," Mr. Boller pursued
meditatively. "Friends are few and far between in this sad old world,
Anthony, and a queer dick like you--rich or poor--has trouble hanging on
to the few he makes. Oh, I don't mean to be nasty, you know; I'm just
telling you. Well, come and have your head rubbed."

Anthony collapsed into his chair.

"There's nothing wrong with my head," he said. "That was the first lie I
could think of, Johnson, to get him out of here. He had to go!"

"Why?"

"She said so," Anthony informed him, with a ghastly little smile. "She's
engaged to him!"

"To Bob Vining?"

"Yes!"

Johnson Boller whistled softly and, elevating his eyebrows, thrust his
hands into his trousers pockets and looked at Anthony with new
commiseration.