ze that. Yet you go on--and for such a--pardon me, my boy,
for saying it--for such a trifling object."

"What does 'trifling' mean, sir?" replied the young man. "What is
trifling and what is important? It depends upon the point of view. What
I want--that is vital. What I do not want--that is paltry. It's my
nature to go for what I happen to want--to go for it with all there is
in me. I will take nothing else--nothing else."

There was in his eyes the glitter called insanity--the glitter that
reflects the state of mind of any strong man when possessed of one of
those fixed ideas that are the idiosyncrasy of the strong. It would have
been impossible for Lockyer to be possessed in that way; he had not the
courage nor the concentration nor the independence of soul; like most
men, even able men, he dealt only in the conventional. Not in his
wildest youth could he have wrecked or injured himself for a woman;
women, for him, occupied their conventional place in the scheme of
things, and had no allure beyond the conventionally proper and the
conventionally improper--for, be it remembered, vice has its beaten
track no less than virtue and most of the vicious are as tame and
unimaginative as the plodders in the high roads of propriety. Still,
Lockyer had associated with strong men, men of boundless desires; thus,
he could in a measure sympathize with his young associate. What a pity
that these splendid powers should be perverted from the ordinary desires
of strong men!

Norman rose, to end the interview. "My address is my house. They will
forward--if I go away."

Lockyer gave him a hearty handclasp, made a few phrases about good
wishes and the like, left him alone. The general opinion was that Norman
was done for. But Lockyer could not see it. He had seen too many men
fall only to rise out of lowest depths to greater heights than they had
fallen from. And Norman was only thirty-seven. Perhaps this would prove
to be merely a dip in a securely brilliant career and not a fall at all.
In that case--with such a brain, such a genius for the lawlessness of
the law, what a laughing on the other side of the mouth there might yet
be among young Norman's enemies--and friends!

He spent most of the next few days--the lunch time, the late afternoon,
finally the early morning hours--lurking about the Equitable Building,
in which were the offices of Pytchley and Culver. As that building had
entrances on four streets, the best he could do w