He stood up. “Well,” as if to make an end of an unbearable thing, “I think I am going to enlist.” A cloud went over Tom Rennard’s face. It was gray, feverish. His hands fell out as if a current had crumpled them and gone. “It is up to you,” he said. David left.... How unfair, how like a woman he had been! Why? Why did this brilliant warm-hearted comrade lead him into moods that were womanish and unfair? He had left Tom as if Tom had insulted him. Could he have left otherwise, if Tom had said: “By all means go. You’re not worth saving.” It was strange. It brooded in David for several inactive days. Tom sat long, fingering his hurt, with a cold smile wavering away. His mind reached back to the first afternoon of the three at Cornelia’s studio: to the parable he had thrown off and that had had no sequel. Was this hostility of David’s perhaps its sequel? He stopped smiling. “God send, at any rate, he doesn’t go!” And Tom did not believe in God. He believed in himself. The very following day he saw Mr. Deane in the latter’s office. Mr. Deane beamed on him. “I have heard a great deal of you, Mr. Rennard--from my nephew. What can I do for you?” “Mr. Deane,” Tom leaned forward in his chair. “You can’t do anything material for me. I hope you will forgive what may seem the impertinence of this visit.... You know what interest I have in David. I am eager to know how he is getting on: what you think of his prospects. I have long wanted a few words with you on this subject.” Mr. Deane looked at the young lawyer quizzically, then in assurance. “This won’t get back to my nephew?” Tom waved his hand in deprecation. “You see, Mr. Rennard, I am afraid of conceit. Conceit spoils more careers than drink. My long experience has taught me that bright young men are what you might call perishable goods. I encourage them only _so_ much. But in your confidence I am glad to tell you that I have great hopes of David Markand.” Tom nodded seriously and held his silence. He knew this type of gentleman. Mr. Deane would presently go on. As he wandered further into the happy ways of his own conceits, he would be easier to manage. “David has a good mind. He can work. He can apply himself. At first he was a little bewildered. He had a strange habit of asking my office manager a lot of foolish questions. I was afraid his mind was too much the wandering sort. But that’s over. That was mere strangeness here. I knew that. I could afford to smile at my manager’s worry. You see, Mr. Rennard, this is a personal organization. It’s a family. I know how my men are, and the women also. They don’t get into trouble in _this_ business. We satisfy them: our kind hands are forever on them: no inducement to discontent or worry. And it pays. It’s a way of keeping your machinery in good repair. Why, just the other day, one of our warehouse truckmen....” He forgot Tom. He prattled on. Tom saw he would have to stem him back at some convenient crossing. The War was broached.