e. "I'll try and
lassoo another mate in that time. The place isn't particularly
pretentious, but, nevertheless, I can't afford to inhabit it alone." He
smiled, but it was not his customary companionable smile. "You're on the
incline and trudging up steadily, aren't you, old man?"

For an instant Roberts returned the look with the analytic one Armstrong
knew so well.

"I trust so," he returned. A pause, again sufficient for second thought.
"Looking into the immediate future I see a lot of grinding to be done,
and I need machinery to do it with. This down town move is merely part of
the campaign."

"I see," Armstrong ignored the explanation, even perverted it
intentionally. "And the next installation of machinery will be in stone
out on Nob Hill among the other imitation colonial factories. When's
that to be, if I may ask?"

Roberts said nothing.

"When's it to be, Darley?" repeated Armstrong. "You have it in mind,
haven't you?"

This time Roberts turned, his eyes unsmiling, his lips tight.

"When have I offended you, and how, Armstrong?" he countered directly.
"Tell me that."

"Offended!" Roused out of his ill humor Armstrong flushed penitently.
"You've never offended, never. On the contrary, you're only too patient
with my tantrums." He jerked himself together impulsively. "I didn't mean
anything by that at all. I'm blooming glad to see you prosper. I always
knew you would."

"The imitation colonial--factory then--" Roberts recalled slowly.

"Just a dream, a fancy, an air castle."

"No, a reality--I hope."

"What?--a miracle! But how about the tape line?"

"I repeat: I hope. Hope always refers to the future--the indefinite
future."

Armstrong smiled broadly, shrugged. Banter tingled on the tip of his
tongue, but for some reason remained unspoken. Abruptly as it had arisen
the subject vanished beneath the surface. Merely the memory of that
suggestion of things to come remained.

In the silence Roberts glanced at the clock and arose preparatory to bed.
Watching the familiar action, a new thought sprang full-fledged to
Armstrong's brain, a sudden appreciation of the unconscious dependence he
had grown to feel on the other man. The thought took words.

"On the square, old man," he said soberly, "I hate to have you go. It'll
be beastly lonely here without you to sit down on me and make me feel
foolish." He gestured in mute eloquence. "It means the end between you
and me the moment you pack your trunk. W