“Gratifying?” suggested Norman with a sardonic grin.

“Not in the least, Frederick.  The very reverse—­the exact reverse.”

Norman gave a shrug that said “Why do you persist in those frauds—­and with me?” But he did not speak.

“I know,” pursued Lockyer, “that you would not have taken this step without conclusive reasons.  And I shall not venture the impertinence of prying or of urging.”

“Thanks,” said Norman drily.  “Now, as to the terms of settlement.”

Lockyer, from observation and from gossip, had a pretty shrewd notion of the state of his young partner’s mind, and drew the not unwarranted conclusion that he would be indifferent about terms—­would be “easy.”  With the suavity of Mr. Great-and-Good-Heart he said:  “My dear boy, there can’t be any question of money with us.  We’ll do the generously fair thing—­for, we’re not hucksterers but gentlemen.”

“That sounds terrifying,” observed the young man, with a faint ironic smile.  “I feel my shirt going and the cold winds whistling about my bare body.  To save time, let me state the terms.  You want to be rid of me.  I want to go.  It’s a whim with me.  It’s a necessity for you.”

Lockyer shifted uneasily at these evidences of unimpaired mentality and undaunted spirit.

“Here are my terms,” proceeded Norman.  “You are to pay me forty thousand a year for five years—­unless I open an office or join another firm.  In that case, payments are to cease from the date of my re-entering practice.”

Lockyer leaned back and laughed benignantly.  “My dear Norman,” he said with a gently remonstrant shake of the head, “those terms are impossible.  Forty thousand a year!  Why that is within ten thousand of the present share of any of us but you.  It is the income of nearly three quarters of a million at six per cent—­of a million at four per cent!”

“Very well,” said Norman, settling back in his chair.  “Then I stand pat.”

“Now, my dear Norman, permit me to propose terms that are fair to all——­”

“When I said I stood pat I meant that I would stay on.”  His eyes laughed at Lockyer.  “I guess we can live without Burroughs and his dependents.  Maybe they will find they can’t live without us.”  He slowly leaned forward until, with his forearms against the edge of his desk, he was concentrating a memorable gaze upon Lockyer.  “Mr. Lockyer,” said he, “I have been exercising my privilege as a free man to make a damn fool of myself.  I shall continue to exercise it so long as I feel disposed that way.  But let me tell you something.  I can afford to do it.  If a man’s asset is money, or character or position or relatives and friends or popular favor or any other perishable article, he must take care how he trifles with it.  He may find himself irretrievably ruined.  But my asset happens to be none of those things.  It is one that can be lost or damaged only by insanity or death.  Do you follow me?”