But why?  Why?  Sitting over his tiled flamboyant stove, brooding into the winking coals, Vandover asked himself the question in vain.  He knew what latitude young men were allowed by society; he was sure nothing short of discovered crime could affect them.  True enough he had at one time allowed himself to drift into considerable dissipation, but he was done with that now, he had reformed, he had turned over a new leaf.  Even at his worst he had only lived the life of the other young men around him, the other young men who were received as much as ever, even though people, the girls themselves, practically knew of what they did, knew that they were often drunk, and that they frequented the society of abandoned women.  What had he done to merit this casting off?  What could he have done?  He even went so far as to wonder if there was anything wrong about his father or his sudden death.

A little after one o’clock he heard Geary’s whistle in the street outside.  “Hello, old man!” he cried as Vandover opened the window.  “I was just on my way home from the hoe-down; saw a light in your window and thought I’d call you up.  Say, have you got anything wet up there?  I’m extra dry.”

“Yes,” said Vandover, “come on up!”

“Did you hear what Beale said to me this evening?” said Geary, as he mixed himself a cocktail at the sideboard.  “Oh, I tell you, I’m getting right in, down at that office.  Beale wants me to take the place of one of the assistants in the firm, a fellow who’s got the consumption, coughing up his lungs all the time.  It’s an important place, hundred a month; that’s right.  Yes, sir; you bet, I’m going to get in and rustle now and make myself so indispensable in that fellow’s place that they can’t get along without me.  I’ll crowd him right out; I know it may be selfish, but, damn it! that’s what you have to do to get along.  It’s human nature.  I’ll tell you right here to-night,” he exclaimed with sudden energy, clenching his fist and slowly rapping the knuckles on the table to emphasize each word, “that I’ll be the head of that firm some day, or I’ll know the reason why.”

When Geary finally became silent, the two looked into the fire for some time without speaking.  At last Geary said: 

“You came home early to-night, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” answered Vandover, stirring uneasily.  “Yes, I did.”

There was another silence.  Then Geary said abruptly:  “It’s too bad.  They are kind of stinky-pinky to you.”

“Yes,” said Vandover with a grin. “I don’t know what’s the matter.  Everybody seems nasty!”

“It’s that business with Ida Wade, you know,” replied Geary.  “It got around somehow that she killed herself on your account.  Everybody seems to be on to it.  I heard it—­oh, nearly a month ago.”

“Oh,” said Vandover with a short laugh, “that’s it, is it?  I was wondering.”