The latter followed into the dining-room and they sat down. Opposite him on the wall was the portrait of his mother in her bridal-dress. A stately lady always, somewhat cold. She seemed to wear her bridal-veil as a kind of drapery for her pride. Morgan spread his large hands on the table and looked at them. "I played like hell for it." "No doubt. Go on." He told his story coolly and without omission. "I suppose you are a worse man than your brother," said the squire at last. "He is more scrupulous. I liked you better. You have more candor, carry more weight. I have not been a scrupulous man." Morgan was looking at the portrait. "What did you want me to lose for? You won." "Won! No, I lost. So will you, soon or late. Better soon than late." He followed Morgan's eyes. "Your mother--I'd as lief she'd have died twenty years earlier." "This sort of thing is futile, dad. Why don't you come out of your shell? Come and get into the push again." "What for? From my standpoint and my age, Morgan, ask yourself--What for?" Morgan laughed, lifted his fists, and let them fall with a crash on the table. "I'm young yet." "Oh, there's a great deal in that. But one draws no interest from time. You live on your capital. But there's much in being at the beginning instead of at the end--a great deal in that." Chapter XXIII The End "It is this way," said Thaddeus, "to speak from a--a--personal standpoint. If Morgan Map goes to the cemetery I shall not wait for my mail, but go and--a--accidentally interrupt. If he goes north, the other man may go there, if he chooses. I shall wait for my mail." "Your standpoint!" said Mr. Paulus, heavily. "Well--speakin' from young Map's, what might he want in the cemetery? Speakin' from mine, I'd rather he'd go there and stay." "My niece Helen is at present planting flowers in the cemetery--in point of fact, roots." Mr. Paulus was aroused. "They might do some buttin'--think?" "Gals! Shucks!" The stage-driver climbed back to his seat and drove away. Mr. Paulus looked after him, musingly. "Willard Sickles," he said, "never would have nothin' to do with women. He was born drivin' mails!" "Pun?" asked Thaddeus, delicately, with his eyes on the Four Corners. "Pun, Peter?" "Hey?" Mr. Paulus was still thoughtful--abstracted. "Lonesome and disgusted. Born so. It's his nature." The two at the Four Corners separated. Morgan went north, Gard towards the cemetery. "I thought they might do some buttin'," said Mr. Paulus, as one grown used to disappointment, and went in with his mail-bags. Sundry villagers appeared, drifting slowly to the focus of the post-office. Thaddeus took off his glasses and put them with precision into their case. "I wonder if Pete intended a pun? Probably not. Conversation is subject to accidents. It is a pity that conversation is not--not more secure." * * * * * Gard entered the cemetery-gate and went along the shrub-bordered path.