"I'm afraid I'd be a failure," said Jud, gloomily. "Is that what's the matter with you?" "What do you mean?" demanded the other, quickly. "O, your grumpiness. You've been all out of sorts for a couple of weeks, you know--or maybe you don't. But you have, anyway. I never saw a fellow change as you have in--in, well, ten days." "I don't understand why you think so. Everything is all right with me," said Jud, shortly. "Maybe you're off your feed a bit." "Never was better in my life." "Well, it's darned queer. You act like a man whose liver is turning mongrel. Why, you ought to be satisfied. You've made a big hit here and you'll soon be getting the biggest salary of any newspaper artist in town. You have been elected to the Athletic Club, you have been invited to lecture before some of the clubs, you've got plenty of coin to throw at birds, so why don't you rub those wrinkles from between your eyes?" Jud laughed rather mirthlessly, without taking his eyes from the coffee which he was stirring. "Wrinkles don't come because you want them, but because you don't." "Well, old chap, I'm sure something is worrying you. Can I help you in any way?" went on his generous friend. "Thanks, Doug; you can help me to another lump of sugar." "The devil take you," cried Converse, handing him the bowl. "Say," he said, a moment later, watching Jud as he calmly buttered his bread, "I believe there's a woman in it." "A woman!" exclaimed the other, almost dropping his knife. For an instant his gray eyes seemed to look through the other's brain. "What are you driving at, Doug?" he went on, controlling himself. "I'm next to you at last, old man. You're in a deuce of a boat. You're in love." "And if I were, I can't see why I should have to hire a boat." "It's all right to talk that way, but you are in the boat, just the same. Maybe it's a raft, though, and maybe you're shipwrecked. You are one of these unlucky dogs who find out that they love the second girl after having promised to marry the first one. The size of it is, you've about forgotten the little Indiana girl you were telling me about." For a whole minute Jud stared at him, white to the lips. "You have no right to talk like that, Converse," he said, hoarsely. "I beg pardon, Jud; I didn't mean to offend. Honestly now, I was talking to hear myself talk," cried the other. "I have not promised to marry any one in Indiana," said Jud, slowly, cruelly, deliberately. "Then, you are free as air?" asked Converse, a chill in his heart. "Or as foul," said Sherrod. "Sherrod, is this girl down in the country in love with you?" "You mean the one I spoke of?" asked Jud, his head swimming. "Yes, the one you spoke of." "'My dear fellow, the girl I spoke of has been married for three years. I am very sure she loves her husband." "Thank God for that, Jud. I was afraid you were forgetting her, just as Celeste said you might. It wouldn't be right to break her heart, you know."