Among the photographs nearby is one of Mark McGwire wearing a Starbucks hat while throwing out the first ball of a game in the 1998 World Series. That was the year McGwire broke baseball’s single-season home-run record, and whatever else he was taking, he apparently credits Starbucks coffee for his success. (Through McGwire, Schultz met the manager of the St. Louis Cardinals, Tony La Russa, who has since become a great friend; he calls Schultz’s autobiography one of the most inspiring things he’s ever read. The Cardinals now serve Starbucks coffee in their clubhouse.) Like Mc­Gwire, Schultz is not here to talk about the past, or at least the very recent past. He has only kind words for Jim Donald and takes the blame, almost too eagerly, for Starbucks’ travails. “Even though I was not the C.E.O., I was around,” he says. “I wasn’t here every day, but I was here enough.” Donald, his wounds reportedly salved by a nearly $1.3 million severance package, has kept mum.

Schultz’s life has changed drastically since he came back. Mornings, he works out early, and he takes regular bike rides with his wife. He’s lost more than 10 pounds and 10 percent of his body fat in the past year. He’s at headquarters by 6 or 6:30 in the morning and typically stays there until 7 p.m.  After dinner at home, he continues working or talks to Starbucks people overseas. Schultz stays away from his office on Saturdays, but he’s there on Sundays. On weekends, he reads emails from employees, who have his address. There have been 9,000 messages since January, and he says he’s read them all. “My wife thinks I’m nuts,” he says. He rarely socializes and has dropped other commitments, like serving on the boards of eBay and DreamWorks Animation SKG.

He’s traveled extensively, including through those parts of South Florida and Southern California where Starbucks has been hardest hit by the economic downturn. “You drive around and see home after home after home that is empty,” he says. “Our stores are in the backyards of these communities.” He’s talked to executives at Coach and Nike to see how other elite brands have weathered bad times. He’s also spoken to fellow founding fathers, like Michael Dell and Steve Jobs, about the perils and opportunities of second acts. And he still manages to check out 25 or so stores a week.

Nowhere in Starbucks headquarters, including on the three computer screens behind Schultz’s desk, is there any sign of the company’s anemic stock price. It was a false indicator when high, Schultz says, and it’s equally false now. As concerned as he is about Wall Street and his stockholders, he says, at least on a day-to-day basis, the price of coffee worries him more.

You know you’ve arrived when your childhood heroes admire you. As a young man, Schultz once slept outside Madison Square Garden to buy tickets to watch Bill Bradley and the New York Knicks in the N.B.A. playoffs; now the same Bradley plays for Starbucks, sitting on its board. “One of the most genuine human beings I’ve ever met in my life,” Bradley says of Schultz. “He’s an inspirational, tough-minded leader. And you can underline inspirational. ” Schultz’s reemergence, he says, is “like having Michael Jordan return to the Bulls.”

Seven weeks before our time together, a very different Howard Schultz was on display at the annual stockholders meeting. These have traditionally been festive affairs: part jamboree, part rock concert. People lined up early to get one of the 3,000 seats in McCaw Hall, near the Space Needle in downtown Seattle. Some bought Starbucks stock just to come, though historically, of course, there have been other inducements to buy: At its height in 2006, SBUX, which trades on the Nasdaq, provided a total return for shareholders of 5,814 percent over its 1992 offering price.