The typewriters had been reinstalled in the president’s office and John, in the little upper room, was giving the president of the road a detailed account of the preceding day—including the visit from the manager of the C. B. and L.  
“That’s good,” said Simeon. “That’s good—as far as it goes.” But his thin face still wore an anxious look and he sat slouched a little forward, his eyes on the floor. The morning’s mail lay on the desk behind him, untouched.
 
John’s eyes turned to it. “You saw Dr. Blake?”
 
Simeon stirred uneasily. “Yes.” He drew a quick sigh and turned toward the desk. “Yes—I saw him.”
 
He glanced at the mail, but he did not touch it. His hand seemed to have lost volition and when John spoke again he gave no sign that he had heard.
 
The young man stepped to him quickly and touched his arm.
 
The man looked down at it vacantly. Then he lifted his hand and touched the spot where the hand had rested. He looked up, a thin, anxious smile quivering his face. “I can’t seem to think—” he said.
 
“You ’re tired out,” said John promptly. “Did you have any breakfast?”
 
“Yes, I had—I think I had it—”
 
“What was it?”
 
He ran his hand across his forehead. Then he looked at John. “I can’t seem to think,” he said helplessly. “I think I ’m sleepy.... I’m so sleepy....”
 
The young man helped him to the couch and stood looking down at him. The eyelids had fallen and he seemed in a light slumber; his face still wore its seamed and exhausted look, but the anxiety had left it He breathed lightly like a child.
 
After a minute John turned away and gave himself to the work of the office. No one came to break the quiet, and the figure on the couch did not stir.
 
Late in the afternoon he sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking confusedly about the office. “I’ve been asleep!” he said in a tone of surprise.
 
“Are you rested, sir?”
 
“First rate.” He shook himself a little and got up from the couch. “Mail come?”
 
“Yes, sir.” He handed him the letters.
 
“I ’ve answered these.” He handed him another pile ready for signature.
 
Simeon read them through with untroubled face, and signed those that were ready. He seemed more like himself than John had seen him for weeks; but the young man, watching him anxiously, was afraid to question him again.
 
When the letters were finished, Simeon turned to him with a smile. “Blake’s an old granny!” he said.
 
The young man made no reply. His steady eyes were on the thin face.
 
Simeon nodded re-assuringly. “I ’m all right.—You ’d ’a’ thought, to hear him talk, the funeral was to-morrow.” He gave a short laugh. “I guess he hypnotized me for a spell. I knew I’d be all right as soon as I got back to you.” He smiled at the youth affectionately.
 
“What did he say?” asked John.
 
Simeon reflected. “Said I must stop—right off—Be an idiot if I did n’t.—Idiot if I did!” he muttered shortly.
 
“You could stop—for a while?” It was the merest suggestion.
 
But the man turned fiercely—the old trembling awake in him. “You don’t know! You can’t know!” He threw the words from him. “You ’ve staved off Nixon. But there are other things—worse things than Nixon—”
 
“I don’t know anything much worse,” said John quietly.
 
Simeon stared at him a minute. Then he turned it aside with a motion of his hand. He leaned forward, speaking low and fast—“The directors—two weeks off—two weeks—I must stay, I tell you!”
 
“Yes, sir.” It was the old tone of quiet deference and Simeon yielded to it. “Give me two weeks,” he said more quietly. “Let me meet them with a straight record—and then—”
 
“And then?” The watching eyes held him.
 
“Then I ’ll go,” he said grudgingly, “—If you make me.&............