“Here are the details of the proposition,” he said, and for almost an hour he read aloud a list of figures and estimates. Loring listened, keenly alert, and questioned and criticised with an insight which surprised Radlett, who several times looked up in approval at some suggestion. When he had finished, he closed the book, and said: “The acting manager will start you on your work. The mine was opened last week, but everything there is still at sixes and sevens. When do you think that you can start north?” “I will take the eleven o’clock train to-night,” answered Stephen, decidedly, “only—” “By the way,” said Baird, in a matter of fact manner, “you had better draw your first month’s salary in advance. There will be a great many things that you need to get.” He wrote a check and gave it to Loring. “They will cash this for us at the office. I shall telegraph to-night to the mine, telling them to expect you; also to the company in Tucson, telling them to honor your drafts.” Radlett rose and looked at his watch. “It is eight o’clock and I am as hungry as a bear, and,” he added, with a twinkle in his eyes, “if you can leave that house-party of yours, where the girls have such charming umbrellas, we might dine together before you start.” They entered the dining-room, where the orchestra was playing gaily, and settled themselves at a table glowingly lighted with candles under softened shades. “Doesn’t this seem like old times, Steve?” said Radlett, while he carved the big planked steak which they had ordered. Throughout the meal, time and again the phrase: “Do you remember?” was repeated, recalling hosts of memories, both sad and gay. The intimacy between Radlett and Loring had been of such depth and woven with so many bonds that the years in which they had been separated made no difference in their complete companionship. They were not forced to fall back on the past on account of lack of sympathy and mutual interest in the present, as is so often the case; but rather they looked backward as one might open a much loved book, the interest of which increases as the covers wear out, and in which the delight is intensified when some congenial soul has shared its moods, and its laughter. Through all the conversation, Radlett, with an inborn tact unexpected in a man whose manner was so bluff, skilfully recalled Stephen’s successes, and dwelt upon them in an endeavor to raise that self-confidence in Loring which had been shaken to its core. Stephen’s failures were recalled by Stephen himself, whose recollection of them was undimmed though his perspective on them had changed. So quickly did the time pass that it was with a start that they both heard the clock in the hall outside strike ten, in a deliberate, impersonal fashion. In answer to a question from Radlett, Loring shook his head. “No, I have no preparations to make. If the city with no history is happy, then certainly the person with no possessions to bother him should be content.”