“If I thought you meant that I would cut my throat rather than take you there. But you never were a money-grubber, old fellow. Come and see for yourself. Everything will be as I have told you--the bridge, the empty house, the little wood. And the woman at the dairy--we’ll get her to give us some milk.” Minnie was staring at him with round, cold eyes. Her elbows were on the table. He touched her hand. “Come on,” he said tenderly. She got up, looked at her machine, hesitated, and then said, “It’s a fine afternoon and a blow will do me good. I’ve finished that MS. We may as well.” She put on her best blouse and a pair of new gloves. It was a beautiful afternoon, and we were all gay as we trundled along on the roof of the tram. Chaytor led us to the row of semi-detached villas. Minnie eyed them admiringly. “That is the sort of house I should like,” she said with a sigh. “There is every convenience.” Chaytor was going along very slowly, looking intently at the mouth of every passage. He went to the very end of the row. We followed, feeling half excited and half foolish. I said with sudden suspicion to Minnie: “It isn’t the first of April, is it?” She returned with dangerous brevity: “No. The sixth.” She was eying Chaytor with a look that boded a row. He suddenly wheeled round sharply; even she was startled, I think, by the change in his face--it was gray, like the gate of which he talked. “It isn’t here,” he said in a quavering voice. “It’s gone--the gray gate. Gone!” He looked at us with panic-stricken eyes. Then he started eagerly back, peering into every passage. When he reached the last he turned again. “It’s gone,” he repeated. “Oh, my God! it’s gone. I’ve lost it!” He let his head drop, and leaned helplessly against the railings of the next house. Minnie glanced at me eloquently, raising her nose and brows and shoulders. “Let’s get him home,” she said in an agony for appearances. “There is a tram at the corner. Hurry up. Don’t be such a fool, Nat. I never was so ashamed in my life. There was nothing--I never expected there would be. Just see how that woman across the way is staring. Well she may! I knew there would not be anything. How could there be? You can see the back-garden palings and the dust hole at the end of every one.” We had reached the tram. She bundled Chaytor up the steps and followed him, not seeming to care whether I came or not. He was never the same afterward. He never wrote an article. He talked of nothing but the gray gate. He used to beg Minnie piteously for his tram fare. Sometimes she gave the coppers just to be rid of him. “He’s going ‘dotty,’” she said fiercely to me, beating the inanimate type with her quick fingers.