Tommy, his arm about Freddy's neck--he had hired Freddy--walked to Mr. Thompson's office. His heart was free from care. Bill was happy and at work. La Grange had confirmed his own suspicions of Thompson's genius; work on the foundation of the new plant had begun, and the future was bright. Thompson was seated at his desk, talking to Grosvenor and Holland, who were standing. As Tommy entered the men looked at him, and started a trifle hastily to leave the room. Tommy said, “Good afternoon,” brightly, and both Holland, the treasurer, and Mr. Grosvenor nodded in reply. Their eyes lingered on Tommy a moment, a look of curiosity and something else besides, something else that Tommy could scarcely call unfriendly, and yet that was not friendly, as if they didn't quite see the Tommy Leigh they used to know. Mr. Thompson did not look up at Tommy. He was staring at the pen-tray on his desk. “You sent for me, Mr. Thompson?” asked Tommy. “Yes.” Still Thompson did not look up. The atmosphere of the office suddenly changed for Tommy. It was now full of distinct unfriendliness. It filled him with that depressing curiosity which is half apprehension and grows fearward with every second of silence. Presently Thompson raised his head and looked at Tommy. In his steady brown eyes there was neither friendliness nor hostility, neither warmth nor coldness. Their expression was what it might have been if he had looked casually at a chair in the corner of the room. “Leigh,” he began, and his use of the surname made Tommy's heart skip a beat, “you have succeeded in making me doubt my ability to read character.” Tommy was certain there was a mistake somewhere. He evolved a dozen theories in a flash, even one that somebody had deliberately planned a trick to ruin him, some devilishly ingenious frame-up. “H-how is th-that, sir?” asked Tommy, and he could have killed himself for the stammering and the huskiness that made his own voice sound guilty. And Thompson--was Thompson no longer a friend? Thompson looked at Tommy with a meditative expression that had in it enough accusation to make Tommy square his shoulders and look Mr. Thompson full in the eyes. “I have followed your orders to the best of my ability. You knew how little I knew.” Tommy's voice was firm. “You can't even guess what makes me say what I have said to you?” Thompson's voice did not express incredulity, but it was not pleasant. “No, sir. I know it's a mistake of some sort, and I am afraid it must be something serious to make you speak the way you do. But I also know I have done nothing since I came here--or before I came here--that I wouldn't tell you.” “Nothing?” persisted Thompson. “Nothing,” said Tommy, firmly, “for which you can hold me personally responsible.” There was only one thing that he had not told Thompson, and he was not to blame for it, though he expected to suffer for it and always had expected it.