Alone in the up-stairs study, which with its folding-bed was likewise spare sleeping-room and again smoking-room,--Margery had not yet surrendered to the indiscriminate presence of tobacco smoke,--Steve Armstrong ignored the chair Randall had proffered and remained standing, his hands deep in his trousers' pockets, a look new to his friend--one restless, akin to reckless--on his usually good-humored face. Contrary again to precedent his dress was noticeably untidy, an impression accentuated by a two-days' growth of beard and by neglected linen. That something far from normal was about to transpire Randall knew at a glance, but courteously seemed not to notice. Instead, with a familiar wave, he indicated the cigar-jar he kept on purpose for visitors and took a pipe himself. "I haven't had my after-dinner smoke yet," he commented. "Better light up with me. It always tastes better when one has company." "Thanks." Armstrong made a selection absently and struck a match; but, the unlighted cigar in his fingers, let the match burn dead. "I don't intend to bother you long," he plunged without preface. "I know you want to work." He glanced nervously at the door to see that it was closed. "I just wanted to have a little talk with you, a--little heart-to-heart talk." "Yes." Randall's face showed no surprise, but his pipe bowl was aglow and his free hand was caressing his bald spot steadily. "Frankly, old man," the other had fallen back into his former position, his hands concealed, his attitude stiffly erect, "I'm in the deuce of a frame of mind to-night--and undecided." He laughed shortly. "You're the remedy that occurred to me." "Yes," Randall repeated, this time with the slow smile, "I am a sort of remedy. Sit down and tell me about it. I'm receptive at least." "Sit down! I can't, Harry." The restless look became one of positive repugnance. "I haven't been able to for a half-hour at a stretch for a week." "Try it anyway," bluntly. "It won't do you any harm to try." "Nor any good either. I know." He threw himself into a seat with a nervous scowl upon his face. "I haven't been able to do any real work for an age, which is worse," he continued. "My lectures lately have been a disgrace to the college. No one knows it better than myself." A moment Randall hesitated, but even yet he did not put an inquiry direct. "Yes?" he suggested again. "I'm stale, I guess, or have lost my nerve or--or something." Armstrong smiled,--a crooked smile that failed to extinguish the furrows on his forehead. "By the way, have you got a little superfluous nerve lying about that you could stake me with?" Randall echoed the laugh, because it seemed the only possible answer, but that was all. In the silence that followed Armstrong looked at his friend opposite, the nervous furrow between his eyes deepening.