The street Philip was following took him straight to the center of the town and into the midst of Saturday's crowd. It was such a gathering as one might see in almost any country town on the last day of the week: self-conscious and uncomfortable, in ugly ill-fitting “best clothes”. The business of the day was over, and the crowd paraded up and down the main street, or back and forth across the Square. Philip pushed his way into it with assertive elbows. He crossed the squalid Square with its soldier's monument and its few stunted trees that stubbornly declined to grow and as stubbornly refused to die. From the Square he turned into a side street that led past the post-office. Here he posted his letters and paused in front of the building, undecided where next to go. As he stood there a man who had been leaning against an iron railing that surrounded an area way left his position and slouched up to Philip's side. The latter scanned the shabby figure with some uncertainty, then he said: “Oh, it's you, Lester?”—and held out his hand. His greeting was so lacking in cordiality, however, that Lester ignored the proffered hand. “If you prefer to be alone,” he growled, “why don't you say so?” Where they stood the lamplight fell upon his face—the face of a lad of twenty-two or three—stupid and sullen and debased. But Philip saw a look of such abject loneliness in his eyes that he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder: “Come on, Lester,” he said, and together they went down the street and away from the town. “What are you doing?” Philip asked presently. “What I have always done—nothing.” “When one hasn't anything else to do it's about the most agreeable of all occupations,” Philip observed. He noticed that his companion's unsteady gait indicated a recent debauch, but this did not prejudice him since he attributed all moral delinquencies to a lack of sense, and so readily condoned them on the grounds of inferior judgment. A boyish friendship, almost forgotten, was all they had in common. Philip searched his mind for some topic of conversation that might interest his companion, but finally gave it up and they trudged along in silence. They reached the outskirts of the town in this manner and Philip was about to turn back. “Let's go on to the end of the road,” said Lester with sudden interest. “It isn't far,” he added, for his companion hesitated. “Oh, all right, only I hope you don't take this walk often, Lester,” Philip said with a laugh, for the road ended at the graveyard. Five minutes later and they were standing before the cemetery gates. The pale light of the October moon fell among the naked trees, while the dead leaves rustled in the wind. There was the ghostly white of tombstone and monument and the dismal black of contrasting pine trees. Philip leaned against the fence and surveyed it all critically. He owned that he was grateful to Lester for having brought him there. It gave him a distinct sensation.