"I'm sorry," muttered his father. "It's not so easy for him, you know. He was as strong and lively a young fellow as you could hope to see. God, six months ago! Now what's he got to do all day?" "I'm not offended," said Kintyre. _I would, in fact, be inclined to take offense only at a system of so-called education which has so little discipline left in it that its victims are unable to do more than watch this monkey show when the evil days have come. But that is not of immediate relevance._ "What did you come for?" Peter Michaelis lifted his bull head and his voice crested: "You know of a job?" He sagged back again. "No. No, you wouldn't." "I'm afraid not," said Kintyre. "I came as--I came to help you in another way." _Maledetto! How much like Norman Vincent Peale is one man allowed to sound? But I can't think of anything else._ "Yes?" Michaelis sat erect; even Gene twisted half around. "You know the Lombardi family, of course." "Do we know them?" spat Michaelis. "I wish to hell we didn't!" "Have you heard that the son, Bruce, is dead?" "Uh-huh," said Gene. He turned down the sound of his program and added with a certain pleasure: "Looks like there's some justice in the world after all." "Now, wait," began Kintyre. Gene turned more fully to face the visitor. His eyes narrowed. "What have you got to do with them?" he asked. "I knew Bruce. I thought--" "Sure. You thought he was God's little bare-bottomed baby angel. I know. Everybody does. It took a long time to get down past all those layers of holy grease on him. I did." "You know what the old man done to me?" shouted Peter Michaelis. "He rammed me. Sent my boat to the bottom in 1945. He murdered two of my crew. They drowned. I could of been drowned myself!" Kintyre remembered Bruce's account. A freakish, sudden fog had been blown down a strong wind. Such impossibilities do happen now and then. The boats blundered together and sank. The Coast Guard inquiry found it an act of God; Michaelis tried to sue, but the case was thrown out of court. Then, for the sake of their sons, Peter and Angelo made a grudging peace. What had happened lately must have brought all the old bitterness back, with a dozen years' interest added. "Shut up," said Gene. He was drunk too, Kintyre saw, but cold drunk, in control of everything except his emotions. "Shut up, Pete. It was an accident. Why should he ruin his own business?" "He got him a restaurant out of it," mumbled Michaelis. "What have we got?" "Look here," said Kintyre, not very truthfully. "I'm a neutral party. I didn't have to come around here, and there's nothing in it for me. But will you listen?" "If you'll listen too," said Gene. He poured himself another glass. "Huh. I know what the Lombardis been telling you about me. Let me tell you about them."