Bristed’s blue eyes sought out Joe’s black ones. “You know I think you’re a scoundrel,” he said quietly. Joe was not in the least put out. “That’s all right,” he said laughing. “Now you’ve put yourself on record, there’s no reason you shouldn’t take a lunch off me.” “All right. I’ll come,” said Bristed. They continued up the street together. Joe warmed on the outside by the overcoat; and inside, by the sense of well-being, discussed the morning’s news of the Street. Bristed said nothing. Joe, without ever looking at him, was aware how he was biting his lip, and darting painful and envious looks like adders’ tongues at Joe’s profile. Joe had that effect on young men. It stimulated him. This young man gave Joe no concern. A slack-twisted skein, he was thinking; I could sell him out twice over, and still he wouldn’t be able to stand out against me, if I wanted to use him again. Once inside the expensive restaurant, Bristed began to lose something of his pinched air. This is like coming home to him, thought Joe. The _maître-d’hotel_ remembered him. “How do you do, Mr. Bristed. It is a long time since we have had the pleasure of seeing you.” “Yes, I’ve been travelling,” said Bristed carelessly. Joe rubbed his upper lip to hide a grin. Joe ordered a choice little meal, and a bottle of Johannisberger. Bristed was impressed, but would not show it. Joe was becoming an adept in menu cards; and was prouder of this accomplishment than of his greatest coup on the Street. He himself, never over-ate; there were too many swollen paunches surrounding him down-town. He liked too well, the feeling of being twenty-three and on his toes. Besides, he went in for other pleasures. When at last they lighted up their Eden perfectos, Joe said: “Gosh! when I was a brat in Sussex street, I never expected to be burning these!” Bristed betrayed no interest in his reminiscences. “What do you want of me this time?” he asked bluntly. “Keep your shirt on,” said Joe coolly. “This is not financial. I’m already making money faster than I can hire safety-deposit boxes.” “What is it then?” “I’m going into society.” Bristed laughed unpleasantly. Joe did not mind, because it was not assured laughter. Bristed knew quite well that Joe _could_ go into society if he wanted to. “There’s plenty of society already open to me,” Joe went on; “but I’ll have nothing short of the best. The real top-notch. I’ve got money enough already to support the position; and in a few years, if I live, I’ll be one of the big half dozen of this burg.” “I don’t doubt it,” said Bristed bitterly. “You’re marked for it. . . . Do you think I am able to help you get into society?” “None better,” said Joe. “Your father, and his father before him were in the forefront.” “Sure!” said Bristed. “My grandfather had the distinction of making money, and my father of spending it. But what have I got?” “The family name,” suggested Joe.