“Then I ’ll go,” he said grudgingly, “--If you make me.” John weighed it for a minute. “Did you ask Dr. Blake about the two weeks?” he said. Simeon fidgeted at his desk. “Did you?” “Yes.” It was a growl, half-defiant. The silence in the room was unbroken. John began to arrange things for the night. The man at the desk watched him, resentful, suspicious. When the room was in order, the young man came across. He placed his hand on Simeon’s shoulder. “All ready, sir.” Simeon started a little. He motioned to the chair. “Sit down.” The young man sat down, looking at him quietly. Simeon was holding a paper, fingering it absently; he had retained it when John put away the others, covering it with his hand. He glanced down at it now once or twice, as if about to speak. But when he opened his lips, it was not about the paper. “Blake does n’t know,” he said harshly. The young man’s face clouded. “Don’t you trust him, sir?” Simeon spun the paper a little contemptuously on the desk. “I trust him--Yes--I trust Blake where he knows.” “He knows about you, sir.” John, remembering the minute accounts he had given of Simeon’s condition, smiled a little as he said it. But the eyes looking into his did not smile. They held a kind of dumb fear, and the man shook his head. “He does n’t know--” “Why did n’t you tell him sir?” “I could n’t!” He glanced cautiously over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “He would n’t have believed--nobody ’d believe!” “But he might help, sir.” The man shook his head dully. “He can’t help. Nobody ’can help.--I ’ve had my chance--” He broke off and sat staring before him, as if at some nameless thing. The young man watched him with perplexed eyes. Something mysterious, terrible, held the man in its grip--some intangible thing. Almost, it seemed to him, he could put out his hand and touch it. Then, in a breath, it was not there.... There was only Simeon--sitting with pitifully bowed head, fingering the paper. He looked up after a minute. “The Bard-well lease expires today,” he said, holding up the paper. John nodded. He was not thinking of the Bardwell lease. He was trying to follow the elusive clue that had looked out at him and withdrawn.... “The road takes possession tomorrow,” said Simeon. “Yes, sir.” John’s mind came back to the farm. “I ’d thought--” Simeon hesitated, “I ’d thought we might put some one on, for the winter.” “Rent it?” asked John. “No--we can’t rent it till spring; Nobody would want it now, but we could put some one on.” He waited a minute. “There ’s your friend--Tomlinson--” John leaned forward, his face alight--“He’d like it, sir. He used to live on a farm--in Scotland.” “I judged as much,” said Simeon drily. “He can have it, rent free, till spring. Then the road will talk about terms--we shan’t be hard on him.” He said the last words with a little gulp. He was looking down at the paper trembling in his hands.