"Well, Barry, how goes the world? Cheerily, eh?" "With me? Yes." He took a pull at his glass, "I'm A 1, and so is Olive." "Work going ahead? I hear the _Bridge_ is making its way." "Rather!" He spoke enthusiastically. "The next number will be out in a few days, and it's better than ever." "Good! Of course Rose is an excellent man for the job. If he can't make it go, no one can. By the way, he's come to live down here, as I daresay you know." "Yes." Barry spoke slowly, and lighted a cigarette rather thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, Jim, that's partly why I've come to see you at this unholy hour." "Better now than never!" said his host genially. "But I don't think I quite understand you." "No." For a moment Barry said nothing more, and the other man looked at him a little oddly. He himself was worth looking at, in spite of the shabbiness which betrayed either a bachelor habit of mind, or a lofty disdain for the trappings of life. A man of about forty-one, his face was a curious mixture of youth and age, of experience and of idealism. His big, bright eyes and curving mouth betokened enthusiasm, fire, a kindly philosophy; while the lines upon his forehead and the grey streaks in his abundant hair seemed to speak of deeper things. Life had indeed graven with its chisel lines and marks ineffaceable. It was the face of one who had suffered deeply, who had passed through more than one saddening experience. In repose one would have said the man was serious, grave to a fault; but when he smiled, it was the face of youth--ardent, eager, irresponsible--that the beholder saw before him. It was a queer, baffling, contradictory face altogether. Only one thing about it was certain, and that was written so plainly thereon that even a child might read. It was a face one could trust. Whatever might be the nature of the tragic experience which had whitened the crisp locks and drawn the heavy lines on the broad brow, there was something so gentle, so straightforward, so kindly about the whole man that none could doubt his sincerity, his trustworthiness. And side by side with the lines drawn by sorrow there were other lines betokening laughter, those fine lines at the corners of the eyes which are born from mirth, and even though they take away from youth's first unlined smoothness, give value and perspective to the countenance. For the rest, he was fairly tall, though he stooped somewhat; and he walked always with a quick, impetuous step, until such times as memory, or some other quality, came to life, and gave a queer, dragging effect to his usually swift tread. "Well?" It was the host who spoke, and Barry recalled his scattered thoughts with an effort and remembered the cause on which he was enlisted.