His time was mostly spent in his shop or drafting room, but he liked to walk when there were problems on his mind. He had certain places for certain kinds of problems: along a nearby section of railroad track, for one; a lonely little path in a patch of woods and weeds and bushes about a mile down the road, for another, and so on. Franklin Park wouldn’t do at all, for he was likely to meet people there; as to that, so would he on the railroad, but there it would only be men, and the sort he didn’t mind—working chaps, machinists, engineers, switchmen, and trainmen on the way to work or home from it. PART IV One late April afternoon—a chilly dismal day it had been, with a drizzle of rain—the maid knocked at his workroom door, and when he’d shut down the power on the drill he was using, she told him a lady and gentleman were at the door asking to see him, and they didn’t give any name. “Busy,” he answered mechanically, and was turning back to his work. “Excuse me sir, but the gentleman said, though you wouldn’t know him, he’s a near relative of old Mr. Cripps as used to live here.” “Oh!” (Long pause.) “Relative.” “Yes sir.” “Lady with him, you say?” “Yes sir, there is.” This maid, whose name was Hulda, had been there only a few weeks. After a long consideration of the matter, turning it this way and that in his mind, Haworth abandoned hope of finding some way out of it, and told the maid to show them into the hall and say he’d come soon. He got out of his jumpers, washed his hands, and went upstairs. Both the man and woman rose as he came toward them from the rear hall. The man stepped forward a little. “Mr. Haworth?” “Yes.” “It’s very kind of you to see us, but perhaps you wouldn’t have done it if I’d sent in my name. I thought it was only right to give me a chance to explain.” Haworth’s calm brown-eyed gaze was upon the man. “Explain what?” he asked, softly—almost timidly. “You’ll know well enough when I tell you that I’m Augustus Findlay.... Yes, I’m Augustus Findlay,” he repeated, as the first announcement of the fact appeared not to have produced the effect expected, “an’ I’m not ashamed to own it!” “What did you want to see me about?” “That’s just what I expected! Just it, by God! It’s what I looked for, to be treated as a stranger!” And turning to his companion who was standing a little back of him, “Didn’t I tell you how it would be?” And to Haworth: “Of course the old man poisoned your mind against me. What else could you expect? He never had a kind word for me, Mr. Haworth—not one! It was pure animosity and hatred—and he my uncle, too!” Haworth regarded him calmly for a moment. “Who is your uncle?” he finally asked. “Aw, what’s the good o’ pretending you don’t know who I mean! Pretty rank that is, if you ask me!”