He sat down again while, with what I deemed a rather exemplary patience, I went over the arguments in favour of my position; and as I talked, it clarified in my own mind. It was impossible to apply to business an individual code of ethics,--even to Perry's business, to Tom's business: the two were incompatible, and the sooner one recognized that the better: the whole structure of business was built up on natural, as opposed to ethical law. We had arrived at an era of frankness--that was the truth--and the sooner we faced this truth the better for our peace of mind. Much as we might deplore the political system that had grown up, we had to acknowledge, if we were consistent, that it was the base on which our prosperity was built. I was rather proud of having evolved this argument; it fortified my own peace of mind, which had been disturbed by Tom's attitude. I began to pity him. He had not been very successful in life, and with the little he earned, added to Susan's income, I knew that a certain ingenuity was required to make both ends meet. He sat listening with a troubled look. A passing phase of feeling clouded for a brief moment my confidence when there arose in my mind an unbidden memory of my youth, of my father. He, too, had mistrusted my ingenuity. I recalled how I had out-manoeuvred him and gone to college; I remembered the March day so long ago, when Tom and I had stood on the corner debating how to deceive him, and it was I who had suggested the nice distinction between a boat and a raft. Well, my father's illogical attitude towards boyhood nature, towards human nature, had forced me into that lie, just as the senseless attitude of the public to-day forced business into a position of hypocrisy. “Well, that's clever,” he said, slowly and perplexedly, when I had finished. “It's damned clever, but somehow it looks to me all wrong. I can't pick it to pieces.” He got up rather heavily. “I--I guess I ought to be going. Susan doesn't know where I am.” I was exasperated. It was clear, though he did not say so, that he thought me dishonest. The pain in his eyes had deepened. “If you feel that way--” I said. “Oh, God, I don't know how I feel!” he cried. “You're the oldest friend I have, Hugh,--I can't forget that. We'll say nothing more about it.” He picked up his hat and a moment later I heard the front door close behind him. I stood for a while stock-still, and then went into the living-room, where Maude was sewing. “Why, where's Tom?” she inquired, looking up. “Oh, he went home. He said Susan didn't know where he was.” “How queer! Hugh, was there anything the matter? Is he in trouble?” she asked anxiously. I stood toying with a book-mark, reflecting. She must inevitably come to suspect that something had happened, and it would be as well to fortify her.