"Now with me it's different," went on Williams. "I've had my rounds. I've got a wife and three children and when a man's got a family he can't afford to take chances. But you're young yet. Why don't you go to Chicago and get on a paper? You could get something." "What could I get?" asked Eugene. "Well, you might get a job as type-setter if you'd join the union. I don't know how good you'd be as a reporter--I hardly think that's your line. But you might study art and learn to draw. Newspaper artists make good money." Eugene thought of his art. It wasn't much. He didn't do much with it. Still he thought of Chicago; the world appealed to him. If he could only get out of here--if he could only make more than seven or eight dollars a week. He brooded about this. One Sunday afternoon he and Stella went with Myrtle to Sylvia's home, and after a brief stay Stella announced that she would have to be going; her mother would be expecting her back. Myrtle was for going with her, but altered her mind when Sylvia asked her to stay to tea. "Let Eugene take her home," Sylvia said. Eugene was delighted in his persistent, hopeless way. He was not yet convinced that she could not be won to love. When they walked out in the fresh sweet air--it was nearing spring--he felt that now he should have a chance of saying something which would be winning--which would lure her to him. They went out on a street next to the one she lived on quite to the confines of the town. She wanted to turn off at her street, but he had urged her not to. "Do you have to go home just yet?" he asked, pleadingly. "No, I can walk a little way," she replied. They reached a vacant place--the last house a little distance back--talking idly. It was getting hard to make talk. In his efforts to be entertaining he picked up three twigs to show her how a certain trick in balancing was performed. It consisted in laying two at right angles with each other and with a third, using the latter as an upright. She could not do it, of course. She was not really very much interested. He wanted her to try and when she did, took hold of her right hand to steady her efforts. "No, don't," she said, drawing her hand away. "I can do it." She trifled with the twigs unsuccessfully and was about to let them fall, when he took hold of both her hands. It was so sudden that she could not free herself, and so she looked him straight in the eye. "Let go, Eugene, please let go." He shook his head, gazing at her. "Please let go," she went on. "You mustn't do this. I don't want you to." "Why?" "Because." "Because why?" "Well, because I don't." "Don't you like me any more, Stella, really?" he asked. "I don't think I do, not that way." "But you did." "I thought I did." "Have you changed your mind?" "Yes, I think I have."