For two months he toiled every spare moment of the day and in the still watches of the night, elaborating that first rough sketch, working out details, which came to him as of their own accord, making beautiful plans and elevations and long sheets of specifications. He gave to the work enthusiasm, patience and stern criticism. In return it gave him a new faith in himself. And hope. He _knew_ he would not fail in this. It was not really hard work. For, as the weeks sped by, there grew up in his heart a love for the thing to which he was giving birth, deep, warm and abiding, a love that counted no hour of labor too heavy, no task too exacting. He did not care to think of the day when the work must pass out of his hands. A little of his ardor entered into Shirley. She, too, hoped. She thought of the fee such a commission would bring, of the release from care and the good times that fee would buy. Sometimes she had a glimpse of the new love growing up in David's heart, but, though she did not wholly like that, she gave it no serious thought. "Would you mind coming back to me?" she asked one evening, thus bringing him out of a smiling brown study. "I was just thinking what it would feel like to see the church _real_." "Don't you ever think of the money it will bring?" "That, too, sometimes. But I never knew before how much the work--just being in it, you know--means to me." "That's very temperamental," she said with a shrug. "Sometimes I believe you think more of your work than you do of your family." "I love you both," he answered gently. "And I don't love you and Davy Junior less because I think so much of the work." It was a fleeting shadow. Those months of preparation and hope were the happiest they had had since the panic began. Only once did his faith waver. It was on the day when Dick Holden, a roll of plans under his arm, came into the office. "Davy, are you too busy to do a little job for me?" That was the formula Dick, who was very thoughtful in little things, always used when he turned work over to David. "I guess I can make room--with crowding." That was the reply David, with a smile only half humorous, always made. "What is it?" "I want you to make one of your pretty-pretty pictures of some church plans I'm making." "What church?" "St. Christopher's." David looked up quickly. "Let's see the plans." Dick spread them out on the table. David glanced over them hastily. "You're trying for it with that?" "Even so." Dick laughed. Dick at that stage of his career laid no claims to genius. "But I know what I'm doing. I've been talking with old man Bixby." David looked up again. "Dick, it's fair to tell you that I'm trying for that St. Christopher's job myself." "Meaning you'd rather not make pretty-pretty pictures for a competitor?" "No. I mean you'd be wasting your money." "Why?" David drew out his original sketch and laid it before Dick.