it back. We needn't either of us say anything about it.” George's expression was changing every moment; but he took the money. “Suppose we go back to the house now, George. You will find your mother and sister mighty glad to see you. And Miss Davies is waiting at the Settlement to hear about you. She has worried a good deal. Then Monday we will see if we can't get the factory to give you another trial.”

George's armour was not proof against such an attack as this. He got up, put the story in his pocket, and lighted Halloran and Jimmie along the passage with his candle; then he snuffed it out and put it in his pocket, threw the bottle into the river and followed the two others up the stairway to the street.

CHAPTER IV--The End of the Beginning

Bending over a book sat Halloran, both elbows on the table, the fingers of both hands run through his hair. The book lay open, and spread out on the leaves was a note from Miss Davies; in part this ran as follows:

“. . . George is to have another trial at the box-factory. They seem willing to be kind to him, but Mr. -------- says emphatically that he will not be taken back a second time. But I have confidence in him, and particularly in your influence.. . .“I will tell you all about it when you next come up to the house. I am more grateful than you know--indeed, we all are--for your...” Halloran had made a discovery. Had he been given to self-scrutiny it would have come earlier; and it would then have been a little easier to face. But this way of thinking would not help him now; it had not come earlier, it was difficult, and the question lay before him: should he make that next visit to the house or not?

He glanced up at his nickel alarm-clock and saw that it was time to go on watch; so he put on his sweater and oilskins and sou'wester, blew out his lamp and walked across the Sheridan road to the station. It was nearly four years since he had taken care of the Davies's furnace and slept in their barn. That had been in his days of “subbing” for a crew position, and he had not been a boy even then; he had entered college at twenty-two. Since then, thanks to his salary as a surfman in the pay of the Treasury Department, he had got along rather better; he was no longer the traditional poor student. He was not ashamed of his struggles, nor especially proud of them; he was inclined to think that struggling is not in itself particularly commendable; that it is success that counts. He knew that Mrs. Davies and her daughter had followed his work with interest, and he was 

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