me as if
he felt some oppression in the atmosphere. He was quite a young man,
fair-skinned and clean-shaven, with an almost pathetically boyish look
about him, a wistful expression as of one whose youth still endured
though the zest thereof was denied to him. His eyes were weary and
bloodshot, but he worked on steadily, indefatigably, never raising
them from the paper under his hand.

Even when a step sounded in the room behind him, he scarcely looked
up. "One moment, old chap!" He was still working rapidly as he spoke.
"I've a toughish bit to get through. I'll talk to you in a minute."

There was no immediate reply. A man's figure, dressed in white linen,
with one arm quite invisible under the coat, stood halting for a
moment in the doorway, then moved out and slowly approached the table
at which the other sat.

The lamplight, gleaming upwards, revealed a yellow face of many
wrinkles, and curious, glancing eyes that shone like fireflies in the
gloom.

He stopped beside the man who worked. "All right," he said. "Finish
what you are doing."

In the silence that followed he seemed to watch the hand that moved
over the paper with an absorbing interest. The instant it rested he
spoke.

"Done?"

The man in the chair stretched out his arms with a long gesture of
weariness; then abruptly leapt to his feet.

"What am I thinking of, keeping you standing here? Sit down, Nick!
Yes, I've done for the present. What a restless beggar you are! Why
couldn't you lie still for a spell?"

Nick grimaced. "It's an accomplishment I have never been able to
acquire. Besides, there's no occasion for it now. If I were going to
die, it would be a different thing, and even then I think I'd
rather die standing. How are you getting on, my son? What mean these
hieroglyphics?"

He dropped into the empty chair and pored over the paper.

"Oh, you wouldn't understand if I told you," the other answered.
"You're not an engineer."

"Not even a greaser of wheels." admitted Nick modestly. "But you
needn't throw it in my teeth. I suppose you are going to make your
fortune soon and retire--you and Daisy and the imp--to a respectable
suburb. You're a very lucky chap, Will."

"Think so?" said Will.

He was bending a little over his work. His tone sounded either absent
or dubious.

Nick glanced at him, and suddenly swept his free right hand across the
table. "Put it away!" he said. "You're overdoing it. Get the wretched
stuff out of your hea