It was inconceivable that Shepherd had been drinking, but he was clearly laboring under some strong emotional excitement. In offering his cigarette case as they waited for the elevator, his hand shook. Bruce adopted a chaffing tone as they reached the street, making light of the desperate situation in which they found themselves. “We’re two nice birds! All tuckered out by a few hours’ work. That’s what the indoor life brings us to. Henderson got off a good one about the new traffic rules--said they’ve got it fixed now so you can’t turn anywhere in this town till you get to the cemetery. Suppose the ancient Egyptians had a lot of trouble with their chariots--speed devils even in those days!” Shepherd laughed a little wildly now and then at Bruce’s efforts at humor. But he said nothing. He drove the car with what for him was reckless speed. Bruce good-naturedly chided him, inquiring how he got his drag with the police department; but he was trying to adjust himself to a Shepherd Mills he hadn’t known before.... They crossed a bridge and Shepherd stopped the car at the roadside. “Let’s walk,” he said tensely. “I’ve got to talk--I’ve _got_ to talk.” “All right, we’ll walk and talk!” Bruce agreed in the tone of one indulging a child’s whims. “I wanted to come to the river,” Shepherd muttered. “I like being where there’s water.” “Many people don’t!” Bruce said, thinking his companion was joking. “A river is kind; a river is friendly,” Shepherd added in the curious stifled voice of one who is thinking aloud. “Water always soothes me--quiets my nerves”--he threw his hand out. “It seems so free!” It was now dark and the winter stars shone brightly over the half-frozen stream. Bruce remembered that somewhere in the neighborhood he had made his last stop before entering the city; overcome his last doubt and burned his mother’s letters that he had borne on his year-long pilgrimage. And he was here again by the river with the son of Franklin Mills! Intent upon his own thoughts, he was hardly conscious that Shepherd had begun to speak, with a curious dogged eagerness, in a high strained voice that broke now and then in a sob. It was of his father that Shepherd was speaking--of Franklin Mills. He was a disappointment to his father; there was no sympathy between them. He had never wanted to go into business but had yielded in good spirit when his father opposed his studying medicine. At the battery plant he performed duties of no significance; the only joy he derived from the connection was in the friendship of the employees, and he was now to be disciplined for wanting to help them. His transfer to the trust company was only a punishment; in the new position he would merely repeat his experience in the factory--find himself of less importance than the office boy.