“Oh, don’t be a fool!” cried Geary, ashamed even to see such an exhibition.  “If you can’t be a man, you can get out.  Now, see here, you came up here once and insulted me in my office, and called me a swindler.  Ah, you bet you had the swelled head then and insulted me, attacked my honesty and charged me with shoving the queer.  Now I never forget those things generally, but I am willing to let that pass this time.  I could be nasty now and tell you to rustle for yourself.  If you want half a dollar now to get something to eat, why, I’ll give it to you.  But I don’t propose to support you.  Ah, no; I guess not!  If you want to work I’ll give you a chance, but I shall expect you to do good work if I give you my good money for it.  You may be drunk now or—­I don’t know what’s the matter with you.  But you come up here to-morrow at noon, and if you come up here sober or straight or”—­Geary began to make awkward gestures in the air with both hands—­“come up here to talk business, I may have something for you, but I can’t stop any longer this evening.”

Vandover got upon his feet slowly, turning his greenish hat about by the brim, nodding his head.  “All right, all right,” he answered.  “Thank you very much, Mister Geary.  It’s very good of you, I’m sure.  I’ll be around at noon sure.”

When Geary was left alone, he walked slowly to his window, and stood there a moment looking aimlessly down into the street, shaking his head repeatedly, astonished at the degradation of his old-time chum.  While he stood there he saw Vandover come out upon the sidewalk from the door of the great office building.  Geary watched him, very interested.

Vandover paused a moment upon the sidewalk, turning up the collar of his old cutaway coat against the cold trade wind that was tearing through the streets; he thrust both his hands deep into his trousers pockets, gripping his sides with his elbows and drawing his shoulders together, shrinking into a small compass in order to be warm.  The wind blew the tails of his cutaway about him like flapping wings.  He went up the street, walking fast, keeping to the outside of the sidewalk, his shoulders bent, his head inclined against the wind, his feet dragging after him as he walked.  For a moment Geary lost sight of him amid a group of men who were hoisting a piano upon a dray.  The street was rather crowded with office boys, clerks, and typewriters going home to supper, and Geary did not catch sight of him again immediately; then all at once he saw him hesitating on a corner of Kearney Street, waiting for an electric car to pass; he crossed the street, running, his hands still in his pockets, and went on hurriedly, dodging in and out of the throng, his high shoulders, long neck, and greenish hat coming into sight at intervals.  For a moment he paused to glance into the show window of a tobacconist and pipe-seller’s store.  A Chinese woman passed him, pattering along lamely, her green jade ear-rings twinkling in the light of a street lamp, newly lighted.  Vandover looked after her a moment, gazing stupidly, then suddenly took up his walk again, zigzagging amid the groups on the asphalt, striding along at a great pace, his head low and swinging from side to side as he walked.  He was already far down the street; it was dusk; Geary could only catch glimpses of his head and shoulders at long intervals.  He disappeared.