Some time later he raised his head. Habits so fixed as Jim's will assert themselves even in moments of stress, and now what was almost an instinct urged him to such action as would even slightly ease the strain. Harvey was his hope, Harvey's happiness and Katherine's was all that appealed to him now, and so with set teeth he rang for his carriage. Jim Weeks had faced many problems, he had gone lightly into many battles, but never before had his energies been so set upon a single object. Jim drove direct to Harvey's rooms, and, finding them dark, walked in, lighted up, drew down the curtains, and sank wearily into the easy-chair. He was by this time near his old self, save for the wrinkles about his eyes, which seemed deeper. He had not before been in Harvey's quarters, and he looked about with almost nervous interest. Later he picked up the evening paper and tried to read, but dropped it and took to walking about the room. On the mantel was the Kodak picture of Katherine, and he paused to look at it. It so held his interest that he did not hear the door open five minutes later. Harvey closed the door and threw his overcoat on a chair. “Beg pardon for keeping you waiting,” he said, apparently not surprised at Jim's presence. “If I had known you were here, I'd have come back earlier. Been out for a little exercise.” Jim nodded, and turned back to the photograph. “This is Porter's daughter, isn't it?” he said abruptly. With a brief “Yes,” Harvey threw himself into a chair by the table. After a moment Jim turned and stood with his back to the mantel, looking at Harvey, then he crossed over and sat down. “West, I've been thinking of you to-night, and I've come over to have a talk with you. You are in bad shape. You show it plain enough. If it were any other time, if we weren't already so far behind with our work, I'd send you off somewhere for a vacation. You need it.” Harvey smiled wearily. “A fellow can't expect to get over a row like that in a day or so. I'll be all right in a week.” “Look here,” Jim leaned back and looked squarely at Harvey, “why don't you own up? Why don't you tell me about it? It's--it's her, isn't it?” indicating the photograph. Harvey returned Jim's gaze with an expression of some surprise, then he leaned forward and looked at the carpet, resting his elbows on his knees. “Of course,” Jim continued, “it isn't exactly in my line, but I might be able to bring some common sense to bear on it. When a man's bothered about a girl, he's likely to need a little common sense. I understand--of course--if you'd rather not talk about it----” There was a long silence. Harvey broke it. “I don't know but what you're right. I haven't known just what to do. Things are pretty much mixed up. You want me to tell you?” Jim nodded.