told on pretty good authority
that the doctor says he probably will never use it again."

"Oh, by George! Calderwell!"

"Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you think of his work, and
know--as I happen to--that he's particularly dependent on his right hand
for everything. He doesn't tell this generally, and I understand Billy
and the family know nothing of it--how hopeless the case is, I mean.
Well, naturally, the poor fellow has been pretty thoroughly discouraged,
and to get away from himself he's gone back to his old Bohemian habits,
spending much of his time with some of his old cronies that are none too
good for him--Seaver, for instance."

"Bob Seaver? Yes, I know him." Arkwright's lips snapped together
crisply.

"Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm counting on your help."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I want you to get Henshaw away from him, and keep him away."

Arkwright's face darkened with an angry flush.

"Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you talking about? Henshaw is no kid
to be toted home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the toting!"

Calderwell laughed quietly.

"No; I don't think any one would take you for a nursery governess,
Arkwright, in spite of the fact that you are still known to some of
your friends as 'Mary Jane.' But you can sing a song, man, which will
promptly give you a through ticket to their innermost sacred circle.
In fact, to my certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning a jamboree
with you at the right hand of the toastmaster. There's your chance. Once
in, stay in--long enough to get Henshaw out."

"But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! What can I do?"
demanded Arkwright, savagely. "I can't walk up to the man, take him by
the ear, and say: 'Here, you, sir--march home!' Neither can I come
the 'I-am-holier-than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror of his
transgressions."

"No, but you can get him out of it _some_ way. You can find a way--for
Billy's sake."

There was no answer, and, after a moment, Calderwell went on more
quietly.

"I haven't seen Billy but two or three times since I came back to
Boston--but I don't need to, to know that she's breaking her heart over
something. And of course that something is--Bertram."

There was still no answer. Arkwright got up suddenly, and walked to the
window.

"You see, I'm helpless," resumed Calderwell. "I don't paint pictures,
nor sing songs, nor write stories, nor dance jigs for a living--and you
h