not believed that anybody could so completely enter
another man's state of mind. Not a word of opposition. This was
glorious! They had known each other for more than seventeen years. They
had often drifted apart and, somehow, had always met again. They had
never been very intimate, they had merely respected each other for the
work they had accomplished, each in his profession; although they
differed largely in ideas. Morrison was a sculptor, and almost an
ancient Greek in his feelings for the beauty of lines. The tall, lean
man, on the other hand, was a strange mixture of a visionary and brutal
realist. They both were cynics, however, that found life rather futile.
With the literary man this was merely a theoretical view point, while
Morrison was really embittered with life. The incidents of this
afternoon had surprised him. He was deeply moved and felt as if he
should give utterance to his emotions. He remembered that his attitude
towards his friend had been rather arrogant at times. He now felt sorry
for it, but somehow could not form his sentiments and thoughts into
coherent sentences.

"Thanks," he simply repeated, "Has anybody seen you enter the house?"

"No, the door was open and I walked right up. Why do you ask?"

"I don't want anybody to be mixed up in this affair, as it only concerns
me."

The literary man smiled: "Could any man influence you one way or
another? As far as I can make out you are beyond mortal influence."

A pause ensued. Morrison threw the last thing into his trunk. "Well, I
am ready. Everything is settled."

"How about your statues?"

"Pshaw!" Morrison shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody was interested in them
while I lived. Why should I bother to think what might become of them
after my death?"

The author nodded and scowled at the same time. He was not satisfied
with the answer. But there were still other things on his mind. He was
used to analyze everything to shreds and tatters. "Are you not afraid
that you might make a botch out of the whole job?"

Morrison weighed the question in his mind, then shook his head and
answered: "No, there is hardly a chance for it now. I have been tuned up
to it, trained myself to it, so to speak. The fruit is ripe. It has to
fall. It would be awful, though--" he added, with an after-thought. "Do
you remember my emerald ring? I had to pawn it, but I kept the poison
which was hidden under the stone. I will take that if anything goes
wrong."

"Would yo