"Phil means," I explained, "that Susan has never forgotten you. It seems you did battle for her once, down at the bottom of the Birch Street incline?" "Oh, gee!" grinned Jimmy. "The time I laid out Joe Gonfarone? Maybe I wasn't scared stiff that day! Well, what d'y' think of her remembering that!" "You'll find it's a peculiarity of Susan," said Phil, "that she doesn't forget anything." "Why--she must be grown up by this time," surmised Jimmy. "It was mighty fine of you, Mr. Hunt, to do what you did! I'd kind of like to see her again some day. But maybe she'd rather not," he added quickly. "Why?" asked Phil. "Well," said Jimmy, "she had a pretty raw deal on Birch Street. Seeing me--might bring back things?" "It couldn't," I reassured him. "Susan has never let go of them. She uses all her experience, every part of it, every day." Jimmy grinned again. "It must keep her hustling! But she always was different, I guess, from the rest of us." With a vague wonder, he addressed us both: "You think a lot of her, don't you?" For some detached, ironic god this moment must have been exquisite. I envied the god his detachment. The blank that had followed his question puzzled Jimmy and turned him awkward. He fidgeted with his feet. "Well," he finally achieved, "I guess I'd better be off, professor. I'll think over all you said." "Do," counselled Phil, rising, "and come to see me to-morrow. We mustn't let you take a false step if we can avoid it." "It's certainly great of you to show so much interest," said Jimmy, hunching himself at last out of his chair. "I appreciate it a lot." He hesitated, then plunged. "It's been well worth it to me to come East again--just to meet _you_." "Nonsense!" laughed Phil, shepherding him skillfully toward the door.... When he turned back to me, it was with the evident intention of discussing further Jimmy's personal and educational problems; but I rebelled. "Phil," I said, "I know what Susan means to you, and you know--I think--what she means to me. Now, through my weakness, stupidity, or something, Susan's in danger. Sit down please, and let me talk. I'm going to give you all the facts, everything--a full confession. It's bound, for many reasons, to be painful for both of us. I'm sorry, old man--but we'll have to rise to it for Susan's sake; see this thing through together. I feel utterly imbecile and helpless alone." Half an hour later I had ended my monologue, and we both sat silent, staring at the dulled embers on the hearth.... At length Phil drew in a slow, involuntary breath. "Hunt," he said, "it's a humiliating thing for a professional philosopher to admit, but I simply can't trust myself to advise you. I don't know what you ought to do; I don't know what Susan ought to do; or what I should do. I don't even know what your wife should do; though I feel fairly certain that whatever it is, she will try something else. Frankly, I'm too much a part of it all, too heartsick, for honest thought."