. Then--no; there really isn't much
in it, Elice; nothing in comparison to the plums in the business world.
That job of Graham's, for instance, offers greater possibilities than
success even, and when it comes to partial success or failure! It's a
joke, the artistic temperament in this commercial twentieth century, a
tremendous side-splitting joke! One nowadays should be born with suckers
on his fingers, such as a fly has on its feet, so that whenever he came
into the vicinity of a bank note it would stick fast. That would be the
ideal condition, the greatest natural blessing, now!"

"You know you don't mean that, Steve. It's hot and you're out of the mood
to-day--that's all. To-morrow will be different; you'll see things
straight again."

"Thank you, Elice. You're right, as usual. I said I was raw to-day. It's
boyish to be so too, I realize that. But it's hard sometimes, deucedly
hard, when others are doing something and getting somewhere to see
yourself standing still. One gets to thinking and imagining things that
probably don't exist." He took a long breath. "It's this thing of
imagination that's worse than reality. It crawls in between everything
so; and somehow you can't keep it out. It gives one a scare." He laughed
shortly, ill at ease. "It even makes one doubt a little the people one
believes in most: take you and me, for instance. In my sane moments I
know nothing could get between us; but sometimes I get to
imagining--times like the last few days when I am--raw--that we're
gradually drifting apart. A little difference of opinion comes up and
imagination magnifies until it becomes a mountain and--I know I'm
preposterous, Elice, and there's nothing really to it, but the thing's
been on my mind and I wanted to tell you and get it out of my system." He
had hurried on, leading up to the point, making the situation
deliberately. Now he turned to her, smiling frankly. "It's preposterous,
isn't it, Elice? Tell me so. I like to hear you say it."

"Preposterous, Steve?" The girl returned the look, but for some reason,
probably one she herself could not have told, she did not smile. She
merely looked at him, steadily, unwaveringly. "I have never thought of
the possibility before, never questioned. Certainly nothing has come
between us. To imagine--I never imagine the unpleasant, Steve."

The figure in the hammock shifted restlessly, as though but half
satisfied.

"And nothing ever will, Elice?" he pressed. "Say tha