, over the scene which he was certain would meet his eyes, had
Garry chosen to wait.

But there were no poker chips in front of Fat Joe that night. Round
face propped upon one hand, the latter was staring motionless at a
thick pad of yellow paper flat before his eyes. And Garry himself was
sitting with his back toward the light, staring as motionlessly into
the cold fireplace. Merely from their attitudes, Steve knew that they
had been a long time silent; he knew that Fat Joe would have been
making conversation, no matter how desperately footless it might have
been, had he been conscious of the quality of the other's moody quiet.
And then, as he was himself about to go forward, barely in time to
check the word of greeting on his lips, Joe lifted pensive eyes to the
other's back. When Joe spoke his words were none too plain; he was
gnawing a pencil tip in most evident perplexity.

"Say," he broke that heavy silence, "say, Garry, how do you spell
reconciliation?"

Immediately the man outside in the dark decided not to announce himself
just yet. And much of his own puzzlement was mirrored in the worn face
which Garry turned toward his questioner.

"Reconciliation?" Garry repeated blankly. "What in thunder----"

"Of course I'd ought to be able to handle it," Joe cut in blandly
apologetic. "I just dismember whether it goes with a 'c' or a 'k.'"

Garry tried not to grin; but outside in the dark Steve allowed his
appreciation to spread and spread across his face.

"With a 'c,'" the man before the fireplace told him soberly. "Are
you--what are you doing, Joe, making out reports?"

With much care Joe transcribed it upon the virgin sheet before him;
with a painful precision that brought the tip of his tongue beyond one
corner of his lips, he rounded out the letters to his complete
satisfaction.

"No," his answer was mumbled in his abstraction. "No, I ain't writing
a report. I'm--I'm just beginning my novel."

Steve heard Garry gasp; he saw a gleam of pleased anticipation flash
into his eyes, and knew instantly at what degree of friendship those
two had already arrived.

"Will you--will you please say that again, Joe?" Garry begged him, very
earnestly. "I wasn't paying attention. I'm afraid I was thinking of
something else too hard to hear you correctly."

Joe's smile as he looked up had in it all of that quality which at
times made it almost seraphic. His answer seemed irrelevant at first.

"I wonder i