They discussed the details of the project and then the business men went away, satisfied.  Shortly afterward Singleton took a letter out of a paper rack, and when he had read it he leaned back in his chair, lost in pleasant recollections.  Some years earlier, he had by chance fallen in with a lad named West when fishing among the Scottish hills.  The young man’s sister and elder brother were staying with him at the remote hotel in which Singleton had quarters, and somewhat to his astonishment they soon made friends with him.

Poverty had made him reserved; he knew that he was a little awkward and unpolished, but the Wests had not attempted to patronize him.  Their cordiality set him at his ease; he liked the careless, good-humored lad; Ethel West, grave-eyed, direct, and candid, made a strong impression, and he had been drawn to the quiet lawyer who was much older than either.  They spent delightful days together on the lake and among the hills; Singleton told them something about his studies and ambitions, and in the evenings they persuaded him to sing.  Ethel was a musician and Singleton sang well.  On leaving they had invited him to visit them; but, partly from diffidence, Singleton had not gone, though he knew these were not the people who took a man up when he could be of service and afterward dropped him.

Now he had received a letter from Edgar West, saying that he was farming in western Canada and inquiring if Singleton could tell him anything about the drought-resisting and quick-ripening properties of certain varieties of wheat.  The botanist was glad to place his knowledge at his friend’s disposal, and, taking up pen and paper, he spent an hour on a treatise on the subject, which was to save Lansing expense and trouble, and bring Singleton further communications from Edgar.  Then he smoked another pipe and went to bed; and a fortnight later he sailed for the tropics.

Shortly after he had gone, Herbert heard of his departure, and the letter containing the news arrived on a cheerless afternoon during which his doctor had visited him.  After the doctor left, Herbert entered the room where his wife and Sylvia were, and took his place in an easy chair by a window.  Outside, the lawn was covered with half-melted snow and the trees raised naked, dripping branches above the drooping shrubs.  Farther back the hedgerows ran somberly across the white fields, and in the distance the hills loomed, desolate and gray, against a leaden sky.

“Ballin says I’d better take it easy for some time yet,” Herbert informed his wife.  “In fact, he recommends a trip abroad; Algiers or Egypt, for preference.”  He indicated the dreary prospect outside the window.  “Though he didn’t actually insist on my going, the idea’s attractive.”

“Could you leave your business?” Mrs. Lansing inquired.

Herbert smiled.

“Yes; I think so.  I was doing pretty well when I got run over, and things have since slackened down.  My manager can look after them while I am away.”