I related the circumstances of my running across Krebs, speaking of
having known him at Harvard. Colonel Varney uttered an oath, and strode
across to the window, where he stood looking down into the street from
between the lace curtains.

"We'll have to attend to him, right off," he said.

I was surprised to find myself resenting the imputation, and deeply. "I'm
afraid he's one of those who can't be 'attended to,'" I answered.

"You mean that he's in the employ of the Ribblevale people?" the Colonel
inquired.

"I don't mean anything of the kind," I retorted, with more heat, perhaps,
than I realized. The Colonel looked at me queerly.

"That's all right, Mr. Paret. Of course I don't want to question your
judgment, sir. And you say he's a friend of yours."

"I said I knew him at college."

"But you will pardon me," the Colonel went on, "when I tell you that I've
had some experience with that breed, and I have yet to see one of 'em you
couldn't come to terms with in some way--in some way," he added,
significantly. I did not pause to reflect that the Colonel's attitude,
from his point of view (yes, and from mine,--had I not adopted it?) was
the logical one. In that philosophy every man had his price, or his
weakness. Yet, such is the inconsistency of human nature, I was now
unable to contemplate this attitude with calmness.