The face of Achilles lighted. "She was a nice child," he said blithely.

The man smiled. "Yes--go on."

So the voice of Achilles was loosened and he told of Betty Harris--to
her father sitting absorbed and silent. The delight of her walk, her
little hands, the very tones of her voice were in his words.

And the big man listened with intent face. Once the telephone rang and
he stopped to take down something. "No clue," he said, "go on." And
Achilles's voice took up the story again.

His hands reached out in the words, quick gestures made a halo about
them, lips and smiles spoke, and ran the words to a laugh that made the
child's presence in the room.

The father listened dumbly. Then silence fell in the room and the clock
ticked.

And while the two men sat in silence, something came between them and
knit them. And when Achilles rose to go, the great man held out his
hand, simply. "You have helped me," he said.

"I help--yes--" said Achilles. Then he turned his head. A door across
the room had opened and a woman stood in it--looking at them.