Mills’s manner of speaking of Shepherd was touched with a certain remoteness. He appeared to invite Bruce’s comment, not in a spirit of sudden intimacy, but as if he were talking with a man of his own years who was capable of understanding his perplexities. It seemed to Bruce in those few minutes that he had known Franklin Mills a very long time. He was finding it difficult to conceal his embarrassment under equivocal murmurs. But he pulled himself together to say cordially: “Shepherd is a fine fellow, Mr. Mills. You can’t blame him for his idealism. There’s a lot of it in the air.” “He was not cut out for business,” Mills remarked. “Business is a battle these days, and Shep isn’t a fighter.” “Must the game be played in that spirit?” asked Bruce with a smile. “Yes, if you want to get anywhere,” Mills replied grimly. “Shall we do some billiards?” III Mills took his billiards seriously. It was, Bruce could see, a pastime much to his host’s taste; it exercised his faculties of quick calculation and deft execution. Mills explained that he had employed a professional to teach him. He handled the cue with remarkable dexterity; it was a pleasure to watch the ease and grace of his playing. Several times, after a long run, he made a wild shot, unnecessarily it seemed, and out of keeping with his habitual even play. Bud Henderson had spoken of this peculiarity. Bruce wondered whether it was due to fatigue or to the intrusion upon Mills’s thoughts of some business matter that had caused a temporary break in the unity of eye and hand. Or it might have been due to some decision that had been crystallizing in his subconsciousness and manifested itself in this odd way. Mills was too good a player to make a fluke intentionally, merely to favor a less skillful opponent. He accepted his ill fortune philosophically. He was not a man to grow fretful or attempt to explain his errors. “We’re not so badly matched,” he remarked when they finished and he had won by a narrow margin. “You play a good game.” “You got the best there was in me!” said Bruce. “I rarely do as well as that.” “Let’s rest and have a drink.” Mills pressed a button. “I’m just tired enough to want to sit awhile.” Bruce had expected to leave when the game was ended, but Mills gave him no opportunity. He reestablished himself on the davenport and began talking more desultorily than before. For a time, indeed, Bruce carried the burden of the conversation. Some remark he let fall about the South caused Mills to ask him whether he had traveled much in America. “I’ve walked over a lot of it,” Bruce replied. “That was after I came back from the little splurge overseas. Gave myself a personally conducted tour, so to speak. Met lots of real tramps. I stopped to work occasionally--learned something that way.” Mills was at once interested. He began asking questions as to the living conditions of the people encountered in this adventure and the frame of mind of the laborers Bruce had encountered.