Out in the street the horrible depression came back
upon him. Everything here was as usual; the
bustling, bright-faced crowd, the clanging surface-
cars, the sharp, brisk wind from the bay which

867



THE YARDSTICK MAN



brought healthy color to the cheeks of those he
passed. Yes, it was all the same for everybody else,
but he — ^he was a failure. The thought closed upon
his heart like the grip of an iron hand. He felt him-
self stagger, and pulled himself up by sheer force of
will, ashamed to look into the faces about him. They
all knew. They must know. He was a failure.
Nevertheless he plodded on. He had headed for
the Carnahan offices and mechanically, doggedly, he
kept the direction. Carnahan would help him out.
His lips kept miunbling over the hopeful phrase. In-
wardly he knew that he had no right to expect it, but
he hoped on, until he stood in the shadow of the
building which was his destination. Carnahan would
find a way out. He always did. Carnahan would
feel responsible for him, and would help him out.
He shufiled into the outer office and sent in his card,
and, suddenly grateful for the rest, he sat down and
waited; waited, his eyes upon the farther door
through which his sentence would come, trying to
plan what he should say; waited, waited, his heart
hammering madly, in nerve-racking suspense.
At last the door opened.
" He is not in, sir," said the clerk curtly.
"Not in?" The last imaginary support which
he had built gave away from beneath him. Of course
Carnahan was there. Why else had they taken his

268



THE CRISIS



card? He had refused to see him. A sudden flare
of anger steadied Jones for a moment.
