ce your
misfortune?"

"Precisely that."

The voice was indignantly firm, but Queed, looking into the old man's
face, read there as plain as day that he was lying.

"Think a moment," he said sorrowfully. "This is pretty serious, you see.
Are you absolutely sure that you carried over nothing at all?"

"In the sight of God, I did not. But let me tell you, my friend--"

A chair-leg scraped on the carpeted floor, and Queed was standing,
playing his trump card with a grim face.

"We must say good-by, Professor--now. I'll send for my things in the
morning."

"What do you mean, you--"

"That you and I part company to-night. Good-by."

"Stop!" cried Surface. He rose, greatly excited and leaned over the
table. A faint flush drove the yellow from his cheek; his eyes were
blazing. He shook a menacing finger at close range in Queed's face,
which remained entirely unmoved by the demonstration.

"So this is the reward of my kindness and affection! I won't endure it,
do you understand? I won't be kicked into the gutter like an old shoe,
do you hear? Sit down in that chair. I forbid you to leave the house."

Queed's gaze was more formidable than his own. "Mr. Surface," he said,
in a peculiarly quiet voice, "you forget yourself strangely. You are in
no position to speak to me like this."

Surface appeared suddenly to agree with him. He fell back into his chair
and dropped his face into his hands.

Queed, standing where he was, watched him across the tiny dinner-table
and, against his reason, felt very sorry. How humiliating this ripping
up of old dishonor was to the proud old man, rogue though he was, he
understood well enough. From nobody in the world but him, he knew, would
Surface ever have suffered it to proceed as far as this, and this
knowledge made him want to handle the knife with as little roughness as
possible.

"I--was wrong," said the muffled voice. "I ask your forgiveness for my
outbreak."

"You have it."

Surface straightened himself up, and, by an obvious effort, managed to
recapture something like his usual smoothness of voice and manner.

"Will you be good enough to sit down? I will tell you what you wish."

"Certainly. Thank you."

Queed resumed his seat. His face was a little pale, but otherwise just
as usual. Inwardly, after the moment of critical uncertainty, he was
shaken by a tempest of fierce exultation. His club, after all, was going
to be strong enough; the old man would give up the mone