"It'll come some time, the break. It's inevitable. We're fundamentally too different to avoid a clash." "You think so?" "I know so. It's written." "And when we do?" "We'll hate each other--as much as we like each other now. That, too, is written." Again Roberts laughed. A listener would have read self-confidence therein. "If that's the case, wouldn't it be wiser for us to separate in advance and avoid the horrors of civil war? I'll move out and leave you in peaceful possession of our cave if you wish." "No; I don't want you to. I need you. That's another compliment. You hold me down to earth. You're a helpful influence, Darley, providing one knows you and takes you with allowance." The comment was whimsical, but beneath was a deeper, more tacit admission which both men understood, that drowned the surface banter of the words. "I think again, sometimes," drifted on Armstrong, "that if the powers which are could only put us both in a pot as I put things together down in the laboratory, and melt us good and shake us up, so, until we were all mixed into one, it would make a better product than either of us as we are now." "Perhaps," equivocally. "But that's the curse of it. The thing can't be done. The Lord put us here, you you, and me me, and we've got to stick it out to the end." "And become enemies in the course of events." "Yes," quickly, "but let's not think about it. It'll come soon enough; and meantime--" The sentence halted while with unconscious skill Armstrong rolled a cigarette--"and meantime," he repeated as he scratched a match and waited for the sulphur to burn free, "I want to use you." Again the sentence halted while he blew a cloud of smoke: "I had another offer to-day." Following the other's example, Roberts lit a cigar, big and black, and sat puffing in judicial expectancy. "It's what you'd call a darned good offer," explained Armstrong: "position as chemist to the Graham Specialty Company, who are building the factory over on the East side--perfumes and toilet preparations and that sort of thing." "Yes." "Graham himself came to see me. As a matter of fact he's the whole company. He labored with me for two hours. I had to manufacture an engagement out of whole cloth to get away." "And you decided--" "I didn't decide. I took the matter under advisement." "Which means that you did decide after all." Armstrong grimaced in a mannerism all his own, an action that ended in an all-expressive shrug. "I suppose so," he admitted reluctantly. "I hardly see where I can be of service then," commented the other. "If you were ten years younger and a minor and I your guardian--" "You might point out with your yardstick how many kinds of an idiot I am and stir me up." His companion smiled; as suddenly the look passed. "I'd do so cheerfully if it would do any good. As it is--" The sentence ended in comprehensive silence. "What, by the way, did Graham offer?"