After his visit to Deer Trail Farm Bruce found himself in a cynical humor with reference to his own life and the lives of the people with whom he had lately come in contact. Nothing was substantial or definite. He read prodigiously--poetry and philosophy, and the latest discussions of the problems of the time; caught in these an occasional gleam. It seemed centuries ago that he had walked in the Valley of the Shadow in France. The tragedy of war seemed as nothing weighed against the tragedy of his own life. Why had she told him? was a question he despairingly asked himself. His mother had had no right to go out of the world leaving him to carry the burden her confession had laid upon him. Then again, with a quickening of his old affection for her, he felt that some motive, too fine and high for his understanding, had impelled her to the revelation.... He had settled himself to read one evening when Henderson, always unexpected in his manifestations of sociability, dropped in at his apartment. “Maybelle’s at Shep Mills’s rehearsing in a new Dramatic Club show, so I romped up here hoping to catch you in. I guessed you’d be here laughing heartily all to yourself. I’ve cut the booze; honest I have. My bootlegger strolled in today, but I kissed him good-bye forever. So don’t offer me any licker; my noble resolution isn’t so strong that I mightn’t yield to a whisper from the devil.” “You’re safe! There’s nothing stronger on the premises than a tooth wash warranted not to remove the enamel.” Henderson picked up the book Bruce had been reading, “A World in Need of God,” and ran his eye over the chapter headings. “‘The Unlit Lamp,’ ‘The Descent Perilous,’ ‘Untended Altars’--so you’ve got it too, have you?” “I’ve got the book, if that’s what you mean,” Bruce replied. “I paid two dollars for it. It’s a gloomy work; no wonder the author put it out anonymously.” “It’s a best seller,” Henderson replied mournfully as he seated himself and drew out his pipe. “The world is nervous about itself--doesn’t know whether to repent and be good or stroll right along to the fiery pit. Under my stoical exterior, Bruce, old boy, I trouble a good deal about the silly human race. That phrase, ‘The Descent Perilous,’ gives me a chill. If I’d edited that book I’d have made it ‘The Road to Hell is Easy’ and drawn a stirring picture of the universe returning to chaos to the music of jazzy bands. People seem anxious to be caught all lit up when our little planet jumps the track and runs amuck. But there really are a few imbeciles, like the chap who produced that book, who’re troubled about the whole business. We all think we’re playing comedy rôles, but if we’d just take a good square look at ourselves in the mirror we’d see that we’re made up for tragedy.” “Lordy! Hear the boy talk! If I’d known you were coming I’d have hidden the book.”