"I've never forgotten the way she shook hands with me, that day," he said slowly. "I wondered then if there could be other women with voices just as kind. And I--I'm wondering now." Caleb smiled. "I've often speculated on that myself, Steve," he remarked. "And I don't know. I don't know! Sarah is pretty human--even for a Baptist, eh?" They both laughed over that rainy day which the words recalled; they sat and talked and smoked, but no matter what trend the conversation took, Caleb failed to mention the document or the tax receipts which he had found ten years before in Old Tom's tin box. Even if he had not been entirely certain of it that first day when he had neglected to show them to Sarah, he knew now just what reason underlay his secrecy. Like Old Tom, he felt that his action was in a way more or less extenuated by circumstance. And still mindful of Dexter Allison's odd moment or two of guarded antagonism that very morning, he gradually led the conversation around to more recent things. "I suppose you have had your conference with Mr. Allison, Steve?" he suggested in a matter-of-fact way. Instantly at that question all the boyishness left the other's face. He looked away and looked back again, very deliberately. "No more than a word," he answered. "He asked me to come down again, toward the end of the week, if I could get away. He said no doubt I would want to spend all the time I could to-day with you and Miss Sarah." "Of course," Caleb exclaimed, "of course! I see. Is it--is it unethical if I ask, privately, your opinion of this job which the East Coast Company has on its hands? Do you believe they can swing it in time to fulfill all their obligations?" Again there followed a moment's pause while Steve's eyes roved thoughtfully around the room. "Mr. Elliott wouldn't have risked every cent he has," he finally replied, "unless I had assured him that it wasn't so very much more than a man-sized gamble. Nor Mr. Ainnesley, either, I think. So that puts it up to me pretty squarely, doesn't it? We'll have to win through--because we have to, now!" "Quite so!" murmured Caleb again. He studied a long time over his next words, and it was a very vivid vision of a rigid little figure in a wrecked black velvet suit--a vision of a bleak-faced boy with bruised lips who had insisted upon going back downtown for Miss Sarah's eggs--which eventually overbore his distaste for anything that might savor of disloyalty to a friend. "Of course there could arise unforeseen circumstances," he ventured. "Unforeseen interference which, unless one guarded against it, might defeat every effort." The room seemed very, very quiet. "Of course," came the calm answer at last; and Caleb could not see Steve's face behind the cupped hands at his pipe bowl, "of course--unless one more or less guarded against it."