Lest that step falter, Mather gave up many things--among them the presidency of his college alumni association. He let slip other labors less prized. When he was put on a committee, men had a habit of electing him chairman and retiring into a dim background, where they were inconveniently hard to find. He was done with such things now. Also he avoided those who were prone to ask favors--fleeing a certain eager look that would be turned on him from some group at his club. The change in him came slowly. He was not exceptionally unworldly--under other circumstances Drake's refusal of money would not have surprised him. Had it come to him as a story he would scarcely have given it a thought. But it had broken in with harsh abruptness upon a situation existing in his own mind, and the shock had given it a powerful and literal significance. It was mid-August now, and the last of a baking week. The curtains of his wide-open office windows had scarcely rippled all the day, but lay like sails becalmed in warm juxtaposition with the smothering screens. Mather was worried--Jaqueline had over-tired herself, and was paying for it by violent sick headaches, and business seemed to have come to an apathetic standstill. That morning he had been so irritable with Miss Clancy that she had looked at him in surprise. He had immediately apologized, wishing afterward that he hadn't. He was working at high speed through this heat--why shouldn't she? She came to his door now, and he looked up faintly frowning. "Mr. Edward Lacy." "All right," he answered listlessly. Old man Lacy--he knew him slightly. A melancholy figure--a brilliant start back in the eighties, and now one of the city's failures. He couldn't imagine what Lacy wanted unless he were soliciting. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mather." A little, solemn, gray-haired man stood on the threshold. Mather rose and greeted him politely. "Are you busy, Mr. Mather?" "Well, not so _very_." He stressed the qualifying word slightly. Mr. Lacy sat down, obviously ill at ease. He kept his hat in his hands, and clung to it tightly as he began to speak. "Mr. Mather, if you've got five minutes to spare, I'm going to tell you something that--that I find at present it's necessary for me to tell you." Mather nodded. His instinct warned him that there was a favor to be asked, but he was tired, and with a sort of lassitude he let his chin sink into his hand, welcoming any distraction from his more immediate cares. "You see," went on Mr. Lacy--Mather noticed that the hands which fingered at the hat were trembling--"back in eighty-four your father and I were very good friends. You've heard him speak of me no doubt." Mather nodded.