as a matter of
course, but he hadn't the slightest conception of what it meant and
told me so. He had passed the morbid age between boyhood and manhood,
his head in the air, his gaze upon the stars, and what he read now did
not trouble him.

And as the months flew by without the expected revelation, I breathed
more freely. His heart was so clean that the suggestion of forbidden
things made no impression upon it. He already accepted suffering, sin,
disease, as part of the lot of a too complex society, but he made few
comments upon his reading and these were perfunctory. He was so free
from guile that I actually believe he could have been given access to
any library without fear of contamination.

In November Jack Ballard arrived for a visit of a few days and
announced that his father had bought a house in New York which was to
be ready for occupancy after Jerry's birthday. As Jack is to occupy a
prominent place in these pages, I may as well announce at once that at
this time he had reached the age of thirty-five, had kept most of his
hair, was slightly inclined to corpulency, and wore gay cravats which
matched his handkerchiefs, shirts and socks, the "sartorial symphony,"
as he described it. He still kept office hours from two to three on
Thursdays and refused all efforts on the part of his father to make
him take life other than as a colossal joke. He had not married,
though I do not doubt that there were many who would have nabbed him
quickly enough.

In his previous visits to Horsham Manor Jack had, at no little cost,
repressed his speech into accord with my teachings, and Jerry was very
fond of him. They fished, swam and sparred by day, and in the evenings
Jack told stories of hunting in foreign countries to which Jerry
listened wide-eyed.

But now, it seemed, his visit had a purport. There was just a
suggestion of swagger in Jack's manner at the dinner table where, to
Jerry's surprise, he wore a jacket and a fluted shirt.

At the boy's comment, Jack inhaled deeply of his cigarette (another
operation which Jerry always regarded with a certain awe) and stated
the object of his visit, which was nothing less than that of
sartorially equipping Jerry for the fray.

"To be well-dressed, my boy," he said gayly, "is to show the finishing
touch of a perfect culture. Without well-fitting garments no man is
complete. I am going to clothe you, Jerry, from the skin out. That's
my privilege. I shall be the framemaker for R