Dick looked--and looked again. He leaned over and studied it intently, his eyes widening and shining. Suddenly with a queer gesture he rose and went to a window. He stood there, back turned to David, for several minutes. When he turned a flush was on his face and he found it hard to meet David's questioning eyes. "Davy, it's good. It's damn good. It's so much better than mine that I can't find a comparison. I know just enough architecture to be sure of that. I take off my hat to you. But it's fair to tell you--it won't win." "Why not?" "_I'm_ going to win." "With that?" David nodded toward Dick's plans. "With that." "How?" "I'm giving old Bixby what he wants, and I'm--" Dick made gestures of pulling wires. David was silent. "Maybe," Dick went on after a moment, "you think I oughtn't to work this game against you. And maybe I oughtn't. But if I didn't somebody would beat us both out. They're all working it. It's the only game that pays nowadays. And besides, I need the money. It isn't out yet, but I'm going to be married--and she's used to a lot of money. I've been doing pretty well, but if I land this job I'll be fixed and able to give her the things she deserves. Do you blame me, old man?" A troubled smile was on David's lips. "Not wholly, Dick." There was another silence, awkward now, and then Dick began to move toward the door. But with his hand on the knob he turned. "Davy, why don't you play the game? You've got the stuff. If you only could put it across, if you had the punch, you could go any distance. I--I'm not quite big enough to step down for a better man, but I'd rather have you beat me than any other man alive. Why don't you try it?" The troubled smile lingered. "I can't, old man." David did not hear the door close. For a long time he sat staring vaguely at his sketch. But that night, when he was alone with his work once more, the old faith rushed back into his heart. Dick was wrong--he must be wrong! The committee were honorable men; they held a position of trust. Surely they could see how much better his plans were than Dick's. And surely they could not be tricked into passing them by for a hodgepodge that would only bring ridicule down upon their church. He was ashamed that he had lost faith, even for a day. Toward the end of the two months Shirley began to grow a little impatient with his industry. "Will it never be finished?" she would sigh plaintively. "You never have any time to spare for me any more." "You see," he would explain, "there are so many details to be worked out in a thing like this, and I mustn't slur over any of them. We must make it the best we can. And it will soon be done." But a little throb of regret would clutch his heart as he said that. And one evening he did come to the end, the illustrative sketches complete, the beautiful plans all made, the last calculation for the specifications set down. "There! It's done."