Ascham drew a long breath; then he said slowly: "Sit down,
Granice. Let's talk."



II


Granice told his story simply, connectedly.

He began by a quick survey of his early years--the years of
drudgery and privation. His father, a charming man who could
never say "no," had so signally failed to say it on certain
essential occasions that when he died he left an illegitimate
family and a mortgaged estate. His lawful kin found themselves
hanging over a gulf of debt, and young Granice, to support his
mother and sister, had to leave Harvard and bury himself at
eighteen in a broker's office. He loathed his work, and he was
always poor, always worried and in ill-health. A few years later
his mother died, but his sister, an ineffectual neurasthenic,
remained on his hands. His own health gave out, and he had to go
away for six months, and work harder than ever when he came back.
He had no knack for business, no head for figures, no dimmest
insight into the mysteries of commerce. He wanted to travel and
write--those were his inmost longings. And as the years dragged
on, and he neared middle-age without making any more money, or
acquiring any firmer health, a sick despair possessed him. He
tried writing, but he always came home from the office so tired
that his brain could not work. For half the year he did not