Tom was in conflict. “Are you sure--are you sure you are not guilty?” Words cried to be spoken. He had none. “Don’t be shocked, Davie,” he spoke at last. “One must meet all sorts----” “I am not shocked. But it is strange. He seemed so intelligent a man.” Tom pounced, with passion of relief. “He is intelligent, Davie! That is life. You don’t know how life is lived in New York. There are no sharp distinctions, Davie, between criminals and honest men....” He stopped. That sounded wrong. He plunged in, to make it right. “--- What I mean is, the ways allowed by the law and the other ways--there are conventions, Davie. Now-adays, to get along, a young man must break in, must break in somehow. Strictly speaking, that is never quite a righteous----” He stopped again. David looked with gentle eyes: was Tom pleading, was Tom pleading for Korn or for another? Tom’s rage came sudden, a birth of weakness.... “Look here,” he attacked him, “what a prig you sometimes seem, man! What do you know about life? You who have always gone a greased path, sliding into fortune! Do you think all men have uncles to do the cheating and the robbing for them?” David’s fists closed. He held himself.... By God, was Tom right? Tom felt his victory. He was enraged still more. He struck again. “If we all had the fat lap of your aunt to coddle us, or the pure lips of your cousin to teach us love for nothing! Perhaps you think that any man who hasn’t some one else to lay the dirt for him had better stay under? A lot you know about life.” “But Tom----” “Look about you. I don’t apologize for Korn. He is what he is. He is the typical social being. Nakedly. The rest of us think we are the pretty names we are called by.” He stopped. David was silent. A great fear ran through Tom. “When you learn, David, to be a man, to give a little understanding--you may deserve the friend you have.” Still David looked at him, looked beyond him, searched for a reason. Tom went out. It was as if the air that enveloped David sucked him backward. Once more Tom was in his room. Its clear white calm was unbearable to him. He would be less harried in the dark. He shut off the gas. He flung himself upon his bed. He could not bear the darkness. He could not bear the light. Doubtless, next door, David was quietly taking off his clothes. Slow, slightly puzzled--unbearable David! Oh, he could murder! He jumped up. Something dim, something gray, something dirty and simple and soft: this was his need. He rushed down to the street.... * * * * * Reaction.... Tom was contrite. He watched David sharply, aloofly even, then did some good thing for him. Some intimate thing none but a loving eye could have devised: and with a quiet tact. So there was David more bewildered than before. But not David alone. He understood no less than Tom. The storm of their relationship seemed moving toward no issue. David was sick--a little sick.