October was at hand.

Work beckoned with urgent hand.

If he did not go soon somebody would have to balance up his check book for him and tell him how long he could live without working.

Brian, dear lad, had been a jewel at figures.
But how _could_ he work with the thought of the winter wind and Joan tormenting him?
And the snow-bound cabin in the pines?
And the ferry and the ladder of icy vine?
And Adam Craig?
He could not, would not go! And where in the name of all lunatics was Brian?
Life in the studio without him would be impossible.

What did he intend to do?
Could he, Kenny, settle down to work with the problem of his penitential quest for his son still unsettled?
And why in the name of the Sacred Question-mark, was his life a string of questions! In the end he fled from Adam's tongue.