"Yes, I know." He looked humorously at his well-shaped feet stretched out before him in shabby slippers. "Yes; it’s up to my feet, Cleland. But they’re a wandering, indifferent couple, inclined to indolence, I fear.... Is your work getting on?" "I’m busy.... Yes, I think it’s taking shape." He looked up at Grismer hesitatingly, frankly troubled. "Grismer, we were school-mates.... I wouldn’t wish you to think me impertinent——" "Go ahead, Cleland." "Are you quite sure?" "I’m sure of _you_," returned Grismer, with a singular smile. "I know you pretty well, Cleland. I knew you in school, in college.... We fought in school. You were civil to me at Harvard." He laughed. "I’ve always liked you, Cleland—which is more than you can say about me." Cleland reddened, and Grismer laughed again, lightly and without effort: "It’s that way sometimes. I think that you are about the only man I have ever really liked. You didn’t know that, did you?" "No." "Well, don’t let it worry you," added Grismer, smiling. "Go on and say what you were about to say." "It was—I was merely wondering—whether you’d take it all right if——" He began again from another angle: "I’ve a country place—up in the Berkshires—my father’s old place. And I thought that a fountain—if you’d care to design one——" Grismer had been watching him with that indefinable smile in his golden eyes, which perplexed men and interested women, but now he rose suddenly and walked to the barred windows and stood there with his back turned, gazing out into the area. After an interval he pivoted on his heels, sauntered back and seated himself, relighting his pipe. "All right," he said very quietly. "I’ll do your fountain." Cleland drew a breath of relief. "If you like," he said, "come up with me to Runner’s Rest in June and look over the garden. There ought to be a pool there; there are plenty of springs on the mountain to feed a fountain by gravity. I think it would be fine to have a pool and a fountain in the old garden. Is it understood that you’ll do it for me?" "Yes.... I don’t wish to be paid." "Good Lord! You and I are professionals, Grismer, not beastly amateurs. Do you think I’d write for anybody unless I’m paid for it?" Grismer’s eyes held a curious expression as they rested on him. Then his features changed and he smiled and nodded carelessly: "I’ll do your fountain on your own terms. Tell me when you are ready." Cleland rose: "Won’t you change your mind and lunch with me somewhere?" "Thanks, no." Grismer also had risen, and the two men confronted each other for a moment in silence. Then Grismer said: