A practical man, this Map, Gard thought--a very genius of accomplishment. Why should he go into Beulah, too? Why not? But he must be doing something here, this forcible schemer, who did nothing unaccountably. If he meditated violence, it was a poor place for it. Much better to have set fire to the house near the hospital, or corrupted Sabrina and poisoned the breakfast. Still--Gard pulled himself slowly up the car steps. His knees had not yet recovered from their wavering inadequacy--still, it was what Mavering would have called "a sportsmanlike situation." Map might try some simple, antique, and desperate thing. In that case it would be well to get one's gun where it could be pulled suddenly. Gunpowder was the handicap that made an invalid even with two hundred pounds and six-feet-two of red-haired, aggressive health. And all that was nonsense. What a sinewy force it was--this love of a woman!--that suddenly snapped a man's habits apart, dragged all his other motives indifferently after it; one of the universal energies. Joy and desperation, and the beast and the climbing soul, seemed packed in it more closely side by side than in any other experience. Two or three men were in the car at one end. Morgan went to the other end and pulled over a seat. The two sat down facing each other, and Morgan produced cigars. "I'm glad you brought these, however you happen to be here," said Gard. "The doctor forbids them, so I don't carry any, but accept them from fate. It's a fine point of casuistry. I disliked that doctor--I disliked his whiskers, mostly. They used to get twisted up in my feverish nightmares. _Did_ you happen to be here?" "No. I found out what time you were going, got leave of absence and came along." "To see where I was going? I don't know that I understand why." "Oh, partly. I had a general plan. I'll explain. I'm a practical man," he went on, quietly, after a moment. "I don't believe in loading up with the past. No scruples and no malice. What's no use to remember I forget. They're all dead weight. I cut loose. That's the way I'm made. Now, I don't know how you're made--don't know what kind you are." "Neither do I. I'm going up to Hagar to find out."