“A fanatic is a term that mostly defines the definer, instead of the person meant to be defined. Sometimes it defines the man who uses it, as dense.” At any rate Aidee was a force and had a direction, and force ought not to be wasted that way, for the credit of dynamics. So Hennion justified himself, and then confused his motive by thinking, “It's hardly a square game besides.” He stepped from the door into the dim Hall again, and said slowly: “By the way, I saw Hicks last one night, some two weeks ago, and he told me who he was. He intended, I believe, to leave a message for you. Maybe he mentioned it to you. I think he told no one else who he was.” Hennion paused. Aidee made no motion nor sound, but stood stiffly resistant. “Well, you see, this morning, Jimmy Shays, the shoemaker, brought me that chisel. It seems Hicks used it last on Coglan, and then left it behind him, which was rather careless. Well, I knew the tool. The fact is, it was mine. Strikes me you might as well have gone somewhere else for your hardware.” Still no sound. “However, being mine, I took the liberty of pitching it into the river, where it really belonged, and swore Jimmy into a state of collapsed secrecy. Consequently, I'm in collusion. Consequently, I'm mentioning this to you in order to clean up the ground between us. It makes no great difference. That's all right. I only wanted to point out that you're clear of the mess. Now, there's a job for you in Port Argent. I think you can fill the place rather better--better than anyone else. Will you stay?” “No.” “Oh! But I've heard it said, political power was safe in the hands of those who had to make a sacrifice in order to accept it.” “I won't make it.” “It turns out a hypocritical sacrifice for me, you know. I'm on the highroad to corruption. You might stay in Port Argent and keep me honest. Will you?” “No.” “All right. Good-night.” The little side streets between Seton Avenue and Maple Street were shaded by young maples, the street lamps frequent, and now being lit. Hennion and Camilla walked slowly. She shivered once or twice, and half sobbed, and clung to him. They talked very little at first. “Milly,” he said at last, “of course, you know, I'm backing you, anyway. You shall do as you like.” “I know, Dick. You're good. You're very good to me.” “Well--maybe I'm wrong--I've been that before--but it looks to me in this way, that, after all, most impossible things are possible somehow, or somehow else, and it's better to go straight at the steep places. It stirs your blood to see how steep they are. I don't know altogether--I don't ask--but if you see anything that looks steep ahead, why, perhaps it is, perhaps it is--but then, what of it? And that's the moral I've been hedging around to, Milly.” After a silence she asked, “How did you know I was there?” “I thought it likely.”