immediately touched by what seemed like kindness from him. And she added
innocently: "All men--writing men, I mean--feel that way about their
work--I suppose. I remember Mr. Sutro who used to have the very same
room you're in now. He was writing a five-act play, all in poetry, to
show the horrors of war, and he used to say--"
The young man involuntarily shuddered. "I have nothing to do with other
men. I am thinking," he said with rather an unfortunate choice of words,
"only of myself."
"Oh--I see! Now I understand exactly!"
"What is it that you see and understand so exactly?"
"Why, the way you feel about altruism. You believe in it for other
people, but not for yourself! Isn't that right?"
They stared across the table at each other: innocent Fifi, who barely
knew the meaning of altruism, but had practiced it from the time she
could practice anything, and the little Doctor, who knew everything
about altruism that social science would ever formulate, and had stopped
right there. All at once, his look altered; from objective it became
subjective. The question seemed suddenly to hook onto something inside,
like a still street-car gripping hold of a cable and beginning to move;
the mind's eye of the young man appeared to be seized and swept inward.
Presently without a word he resumed his writing.
Fifi was much disturbed at the effect of her artless question, and just
when everything was beginning to go so nicely too. In about half an
hour, when she got up to retire, she said timidly:--
"I'm sorry if I--I was rude just now, Mr. Queed. Indeed, I didn't mean
to be...."
"I did not say that you were rude," he answered without looking up.
But at the door Fifi was arrested by his voice.
"Why do you think it to your advantage to work in here?"
"It's--it's a good deal warmer, you know," said Fifi, flustered,
"and--then of course there's the table and lamp. But it's quite all
right upstairs--really!"
He made no answer.
VI
_Autobiographical Data imparted, for Sound Business Reasons, to a
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