"Well, I'll spare you wondering about me, Fairfax," the agent said; "I am just a plain fellow, that's all, and for that reason, when I saw that one of the hands on my pay-roll was clearly a gentleman, and a very young one too, it interested me, and since I have been to Kenny's"--he hesitated a little--"since I have heard something about you from that good soul, why, I am more than interested, I am determined!" Fairfax, his head thrown back, smoked thoughtfully, and Rainsford noted the youthfulness of the line of his neck and face, the high idealism of the brow, the beautiful mouth, the breeding and the sensitiveness there. "Why, it's a crime, that's what it is. You are young, you're a boy. Thank God for it, it is not too late. Would you care to tell me what brought you here like this? I won't say what misfortune brought you here, Fairfax,"--he put his nervous hand to his lips--"but what folly on your part." Rainsford took for granted the ordinary reasons for hard luck and the harvest of wild oats. Fairfax said, "I have no people, Rainsford; they are all dead." "But you have influential friends?" "No," said Fairfax, "not one." "You have extraordinary talent, Fairfax." The young man started. "But what makes you think that?" "Falutini told me." Fairfax laughed harshly. "Poor Tito. He's a judge, I daresay." His face clouded, grew quite stern before Rainsford's intent eyes. "Yes," he said slowly, "I think I have talent; I think I must have a lot somewhere, but I have got a mighty dangerous Pride and it has driven me to a sort of revenge on Fate, an arrogant showing of my disdain--God knows of what and of whom!" More quietly he said: "Whilst my mother lived I could not beg, Rainsford, I couldn't starve, I couldn't scratch and crawl and live as a starving artist must when he is making his way. I wanted to make a living first, and I was too proud to take the thorny way an artist must." Fairfax got up, put his hands in his pockets, and walked across Rainsford's small room. It was in excellent order, plainly furnished but well supplied with the things a man needs to make him comfortable. There were even a few luxuries, like pillows on the hard sofa, bookshelves filled with books and a student's lamp soft under a green shade. As he turned back to the paymaster Fairfax had composed himself and said tranquilly-- "I reckon you've got a pretty bad note against me in the ledger, haven't you, Rainsford?" "Note?" repeated the other vaguely. "Oh, your bad conduct report. Well, rather." "Who has got my job on Number Twenty-four?" "Steve Brodie." Fairfax nodded. "He surely does know how to drive an engine all right, and so do I, Rainsford." "You mustn't run any more engines, Fairfax." "I don't want to come back to West Albany and to the yards," said the engineer. "I haven't much influence now," Rainsford said musingly, "but I have some friends still. I want you to let me lend you some money, a very small sum."