“You look here!” He jumped to his feet again and shook his fingers at McGregor. “You just try something. You try being open and frank and square with a woman--any woman--as you would with a man. Let her live her own life and ask her to let you live yours. You try it. She won't. She will die first.” He sat down again upon the bench and shook his head back and forth. “Lord how I wish I could talk!” he said. “I'm making a muddle of this and I wanted to tell you. Oh, how I wanted to tell you! It's part of my idea that a man should tell a boy all he knows. We've got to quit lying to them.” McGregor looked at the ground. He was profoundly and deeply moved and interested as he had never before been moved by anything but hate. Two women coming along the gravel walk stopped under a tree and looked back. The barber smiled and raised his hat. When they smiled back at him he rose and started toward them. “Come on boy,” he whispered behind his hand to McGregor. “Let's get them.” When McGregor looked up the scene before his eyes infuriated him. The smiling barber with his hat in his hand, the two women waiting under the tree, the look of half-guilty innocence on the faces of all of them, stirred a blind fury in his brain. He sprang forward, clutching the shoulder of Turner with his hand. Whirling him about he threw him to his hands and knees. “Get out of here you females!” he roared at the women who ran off in terror down the walk. The barber sat again upon the bench beside McGregor. He rubbed his hands together to brush the bits of gravel out of the flesh. “What's got wrong with you?” he asked. McGregor hesitated. He wondered how he should tell what was in his mind. “Everything in its place,” he said finally. “I wanted to go on with our talk.” Lights flashed out of the darkness of the park. The two men sat on the bench thinking each his own thoughts. “I want to take some work out of the clamps to-night,” the barber said, looking at his watch. Together the two men walked along the street. “Look here,” said McGregor. “I didn't mean to hurt you. Those two women that came up and interfered with what we were working out made me furious.” “Women always interfere,” said the barber. “They raise hell with men.” His mind ran out and began to play with the world-old problem of the sexes. “If a lot of women fall in the fight with us men and become our slaves--serving us as the paid women do--need they fuss about it? Let them be game and try to help work it out as men have been game and have worked and thought through ages of perplexity and defeat.”