They had reached an overhead light, and Jack caught a clearer view of the man. What he saw sent a shiver through him. A great change had come over his friend. His untidy dress,--always so neat and well kept; his haggard eyes and shambling, unsteady walk, so different from his springy, debonair manner, all showed that he had been and still was under some terrible mental strain. That he had not been drinking was evident from his utterance and gait. This last discovery when his condition was considered, disturbed him most of all, for he saw that Garry was going through some terrible crisis, either professional or financial. As the two advanced toward the door of the station on their way to the street, the big, burly form of McGowan, the contractor, loomed up. “I heard you wouldn't be up till late, Mr. Minott,” he exclaimed gruffly, blocking Garry's exit to the street. “I couldn't find you at the Council or at your office, so I had to come here. We haven't had that last payment on the church. The vouchers is all ready for your signature, so the head trustee says,--and the money's where you can git at it.” Garry braced his shoulders and his jaw tightened. One secret of the young architect's professional success lay in his command over his men. Although he was considerate, and sometimes familiar, he never permitted any disrespect. “Why, yes, Mr. McGowan, that's so,” he answered stiffly. “I've been in New York a good deal lately and I guess I've neglected things here. I'll try to come up in the morning, and if everything's all right I'll get a certificate and fill it up and you'll get a check in a few days.” “Yes, but you said that last week.” There was a sound of defiance in McGowan's voice. “If I did I had good reason for the delay,” answered Garry with a flash of anger. “I'm not running my office to suit you.” “Nor for anybody else who wants his money and who's got to have it, and I want to tell you, Mr. Minott, right here, and I don't care who hears it, that I want mine or I'll know the reason why.” Garry wheeled fiercely and raised his hand as if to strike the speaker, then it dropped to his side. “I don't blame you, Mr. McGowan,” he said in a restrained, even voice. “I have no doubt that it's due you and you ought to have it, but I've been pretty hard pressed lately with some matters in New York; so much so that I've been obliged to take the early morning train,--and you can see yourself what time I get home. Just give me a day or two longer and I'll examine the work and straighten it out. And then again, I'm not very well.” The contractor glared into the speaker's face as if to continue the discussion, then his features relaxed. Something in the sound of Garry's voice, or perhaps some line of suffering in his face must have touched him. “Well, of course, I ain't no hog,” he exclaimed in a softer tone, which was meant as an apology, “and if you're sick that ends it, but I've got all them men to pay and--”