Stanny looked at him with the corners of his mouth drawn down, and Wilfred could read the sarcastic words that were not spoken. Happy Wilf! What Stanny actually said, morosely, was: “What did Frances Mary think of it?” “Oh, she got the whole thing up,” said Wilfred, glad to score off him. He perceived of course that his giddy talk was falling on deaf ears; he didn’t mind. Subsequently it struck him that there was perhaps something cruel in it. That was the wrong way to deal with the situation. Down-hearted people are enraged by an obvious attempt to cheer them, and rightly so. He became silent. Better to let the sun and the sweet air have way with them. They plodded along. Rounding the top of the hill, a mile-wide, shallow valley unrolled below them. The sight made Wilfred catch his breath; but he said nothing. It was pasture land, all green except for the dotting farmhouses and villages; an unreal, tender green which did not suggest grass or anything earthly. It was as if one was looking at the land through a magical green medium. It was like a sea, tenderer than the real sea, and rolling up in one vast gentle swell, sprinkled with white ships. At the far boundaries it faded dreamlike into a grey void. Wilfred stole frequent glances at his handsome companion. Taswell strode along stiffly, his head up, looking angrily and blindly straight ahead. Wilfred’s sense of fitness was gratified by the sight. The noble way to bear pain. What could have dealt him such a blow? Bye and bye a sixth sense informed Wilfred that Stanny resented the keenness of his interest in this new chum. It was an old grievance of Stanny’s that Wilfred was too quick to be on with the new. So Wilfred looked directly at Taswell no more; happy enough to be in the company of such a one. Plenty of time! he said to himself. We have three days ahead of us. They descended into the valley, where the road was carried across a clear stream upon an old stone bridge. “Half a moment,” said Taswell. “I’m thirsty.” Wilfred and Stanny waited by the parapet. “Look here,” said Stanny, jerkily. He refused to meet Wilfred’s eye. “Didn’t have a chance to tell you before. I’ve been on the loose again. Suppose you can see it. Three days. Blind. . . . Oh, you needn’t say anything!” “Not going to,” said Wilfred. “This fellow . . .” Stanny went on. “When I came to my senses last night I found myself in a dive up near the Harlem river. He was there, too. In the same boat, you understand. Has had a knockout blow. I don’t know what. Won’t talk about it. I haven’t had any knockout blow. The same thing as usual. Nothingness. . . . My money had given out, and so had his. We were put out of the place together. So we walked all the way down to my place, and I took him in. By that time we were ready to shoot ourselves. I found your letter there, so this morning I borrowed enough from the lunch-room down-stairs to pay our fares up. We haven’t a cent.”