He had been away at school ten years, when something occurred which took him back to the very limits at which his memory was active, and which showed him that Benson might have intimacies of which he did not know. He had written for money, and instead of the usual letter from Benson, there came one in a strange hand. Mr. Benson was absorbed in important litigation, the writer said, and had requested him to see to the mailing of the enclosed draft; the writer also ventured the hope that his young friend had not altogether forgotten him, in spite of the years that had intervened since their last meeting. The letter was signed with a flourish, Nathan Gibbs. Stephen remembered vaguely that there was such a man, but whether he really remembered him, or only remembered having been told of him, he could not have said. He wondered though how long Gibbs had been in Benson, and why his Uncle Jacob had never mentioned him. Gibbs, once started on the down grade, had gone from bad to worse. There had been ten doleful years during which he had sunk lower and lower. Now and again he had made a manful rally to recover his lost estate, but it was no use. Finally such a point was reached that his Julia took matters into her own hands. She had written Benson, and her letter had been an urgent appeal for assistance. The lawyer had heeded it, but he had no intention of helping Gibbs at arm's length. If he was to make himself responsible for the general's future, he would have to be close at hand where he could keep him under some sort of surveillance. He had made his arrangement with Julia—the general appeared quiescent and was not considered—and Julia, with the memory of those ten hard years eating into her soul, was now only too glad to return to Ohio. As Benson had desired it, the pair came direct to him. He was rather dubious as to what the outcome would be, and when he met them at the station one cold November afternoon, he owned sadly to himself that the general's appearance was not calculated to inspire one with confidence. After dinner Mrs. Pope and Julia retired to the drawing-room, leaving the two men to their cigars. It was then that Gibbs grew confidential, he had been merely garrulous before. “This was right handsome of you, Jake,” he said feelingly. “But that letter of Julia's was her own inspiration. I didn't know about it until she had yours in reply; I guess she wanted to spare me if you said no. Now how are you going to use me? I want to be useful. Put me to work, Jake; no matter what it is, I'm your man!” He stepped jauntily to the fireplace, and spreading his legs far apart, entrenched himself on the hearth rug.