Tarrant, evidently, didn't care for the article either; though he was prepared to do so later, Vance suspected, if good reasons were forthcoming. Vance had already learned that his chief's opinions were always twenty-four hours late. At first he had thought it was because they matured as slowly as his own; but he had begun to suspect a different reason. Somebody, not always immediately available, did Tarrant's thinking for him—Vance wondered if it were his wife. He had not had much time to think of Mrs. Tarrant since his encounter with her on the afternoon when she had offered to read Dante with him. He had heard no more of her since; she never came to the office, and he had no time to go and see her, even had the idea occurred to him—which it never did. At most, he thought enviously now and then of the rows and rows of books in the room where she had received him… .

"Of course," Tarrant said, "there are things about it … certainly… . Only, perhaps … well, I see you're a traditionalist at heart… ." He wavered. "Not a bad thing, perhaps … the tabula rasa's getting to be an old story, eh? Well, I don't deny … "

"Somebody asking for Mr. Weston," a voice came through the door of the editorial retreat. Tarrant looked relieved at not being obliged to commit himself farther, and Vance, surprised at the summons, went back to the outer office.

Bunty Hayes stood there. He was crimson and shiny in the face, as if from cold or drink, and looked larger than life in the cramped space. He glared at Vance furiously. "That you, is it? Doing the highbrow act, eh? Call yourself a magazine editor, do you? Well, I'll tell you what I call you." He did so, in a rush of oaths and imprecations.

Vance received them in silence, and his silence had the effect of increasing the other's exasperation. "Well, haven't you got anything to say, take it all lying down, will you? Well, I'll give you something that'll keep you from getting up again… ." His fist, red and shiny as his face, flew out and caught Vance under the ear… . The blow was violent but unsteady—Vance noticed that at once. The fellow was half drunk—drunk enough to be pitiable, though not (Vance also perceived) to be undangerous. But to Vance he would have been pitiable even if he had been sober.