“Not socially; I wasn’t here long enough last spring to go about any, though I did meet some of the solider citizens in the railroad connection: Governor Evans, ‘Uncle Johnny’ Smith,--he owns the American House, you know,--Colonel Eicholtz, Mr. Walter Cheesman, the Barth brothers, Kountze, president of the Colorado National; men like that, most of them old residents.” “The ‘First Families,’” Bromley mused. “Of course there would be some dating back to the ’sixties and the ox-team and ‘Pike’s-Peak-or-bust’ days; not so very ancient, at that, but still with the distinguishing hallmark of the pioneers. We’ll fish around for some introductions.” Philip sat back in his chair, shaking his head. “I’m not at all sure that I want to go in for the social whirl just yet, Harry,” he deprecated. “I want to find the Dabneys first, if I can; and after that ... perhaps you may remember that I once told you what my principal object was in heading for the west?” “About your father; yes, I remember. You said at the time that you had no definite clue to his whereabouts. Has anything come to light since?” “No; nothing.” “Going to be a rather blind job, looking for him, isn’t it?” “Utterly blind. It will be only by chance, if I find him.” “Any notion of how to go about the search?” “No very clear idea, as yet. But now that I have money and leisure--can go where I please and stay as long as I please--well, to begin with, I had thought of making a round of the different towns and mining-camps. Of course, I’m not at all certain that he is in Colorado. The Black Hills rush was the big excitement when he dis--when he left home.” “I see,” Bromley nodded; and, forbearing to add any word either of curious questioning or of discouragement: “Have you finished your coffee?” “The coffee, yes,” Philip assented hesitantly. “But there is a thing we’ve both been dodging, and we may as well have it out here and now. What did you think of me last night, Harry?” Bromley smiled. “I thought you were completely human; a fact I have at times been somewhat inclined to doubt.” Philip shook his head in reproachful deprecation. “Do you make a joke out of everything?” he asked. “Oh, no. But in this transitory scheme which we call Life, spelling it with a capital letter, I try to give things their relative value--that’s all.” Again Philip shook his head. “Can a man touch pitch and not be defiled? I wasn’t human, Harry; for the time being I was just a brute beast.” “Oh, good heavens! Are you going to let that bit of commonplace asininity worry you for the rest of your life? Let it slide and forget it. You didn’t do that painted and powdered Jezebel any harm--you couldn’t.” “Perhaps not: the harm I did was to myself.... It was the first time, Harry. I wish I could make you believe that it will also be the last.” Bromley pushed his chair back and got up, laughing quietly.