In a corner by a window stood McGregor wondering why he also did not want to devote his life to being the father of children. In the dim light across the face of the window a fat old spider crawled slowly. In the hideous body of the insect there was something that suggested to the mind of the struggling thinker the sloth of the world. Vaguely his mind groped about trying to get hold of words and ideas to express what was in his brain. “Ugly crawling things that look at the floor,” he muttered. “If they have children it is without order or orderly purpose. It is an accident like the accident of the fly that falls into the net built by the insect here. The coming of the children is like the coming of the flies, it feeds a kind of cowardice in men. In the children men hope vainly to see done what they have not the courage to try to do.” With an oath McGregor smashed with his heavy leather glove the fat thing wandering aimlessly across the light. “I must not be confused by little things. There is still going on the attempt to force me into the hole in the ground. There is a hole here in which men live and work just as there is in the mining town from which I came.” * * * * * Hurrying out of his room that evening McGregor went to see Edith. He wanted to look at her and to think. In the little room at the back he sat for an hour trying to read a book and then for the first time shared his thoughts with her. “I am trying to discover why men are of so little importance,” he said suddenly. “Are they mere tools for women? Tell me that. Tell me what women think and what they want?” Without waiting for an answer he turned again to the reading of the book. “Oh well,” he added “it doesn't need to bother me. I won't let any women lead me into being a reproductive tool for her.” Edith was alarmed. She took McGregor's outburst as a declaration of war against herself and her influence and her hands began to tremble. Then a new thought came to her. “He needs money to get on in the world,” she told herself and a little thrill of joy ran through her as she thought of her own carefully guarded hoard. She wondered how she could offer it to him so that there would be no danger of a refusal. “You're all right,” said McGregor, preparing to depart. “You do not interfere with a man's thoughts.” Edith blushed and like the workmen in the warehouse looked at the floor. Something in his words startled her and when he was gone she went to her desk and taking out her bankbook turned its pages with new pleasure. Without hesitation she who indulged herself in nothing would have given all to McGregor.