Garry braced his shoulders and his jaw tightened.  One secret of the young architect’s professional success lay in his command over his men.  Although he was considerate, and sometimes familiar, he never permitted any disrespect.

“Why, yes, Mr. McGowan, that’s so,” he answered stiffly.  “I’ve been in New York a good deal lately and I guess I’ve neglected things here.  I’ll try to come up in the morning, and if everything’s all right I’ll get a certificate and fill it up and you’ll get a check in a few days.”

“Yes, but you said that last week.”  There was a sound of defiance in McGowan’s voice.

“If I did I had good reason for the delay,” answered Garry with a flash of anger.  “I’m not running my office to suit you.”

“Nor for anybody else who wants his money and who’s got to have it, and I want to tell you, Mr. Minott, right here, and I don’t care who hears it, that I want mine or I’ll know the reason why.”

Garry wheeled fiercely and raised his hand as if to strike the speaker, then it dropped to his side.

“I don’t blame you, Mr. McGowan,” he said in a restrained, even voice.  “I have no doubt that it’s due you and you ought to have it, but I’ve been pretty hard pressed lately with some matters in New York; so much so that I’ve been obliged to take the early morning train,—­and you can see yourself what time I get home.  Just give me a day or two longer and I’ll examine the work and straighten it out.  And then again, I’m not very well.”

The contractor glared into the speaker’s face as if to continue the discussion, then his features relaxed.  Something in the sound of Carry’s voice, or perhaps some line of suffering in his face must have touched him.

“Well, of course, I ain’t no hog,” he exclaimed in a softer tone, which was meant as an apology, “and if you’re sick that ends it, but I’ve got all them men to pay and—­”

“Yes, I understand and I won’t forget.  Thank you, Mr. McGowan, and good-night.  Come along, Jack,—­Corinne’s worrying, and will be till I get home.”

The two kept silent as they walked up the hill Garry, because he was too tired to discuss the cowardly attack; Jack, because what he had to say must be said when they were alone,—­when he could get hold of Garry’s hand and make him open his heart.

As they approached the small house and mounted the steps leading to the front porch, Corinne’s face could be seen pressed against a pane in one of the dining-room windows.  Garry touched Jack’s arm and pointed ahead: 

“Poor Cory!” he exclaimed with a deep sigh, “that’s the way she is every night.  Coming home is sometimes the worst part of it all, Jack.”

The door flew open and Corinne sprang out:  “Are you tired, dear?” she asked, peering into his face and kissing him.  Then turning to Jack:  “Thank you, Jack!—­It was so good of you to go.  Ruth sent me word you had gone to meet him.”