at!"

Langham choked down his rage. "You haven't always been so contemptuous
of such sums."

"I'm feeling proud to-day, Marsh. I'm going to treat myself to a few
airs, and you can pat yourself on the back when you've dug up the money
by the end of the month! You'll have done something to feel proud of,
too."

"Suppose we say a thousand," urged Langham.

"Good old Marsh! If you keep on raising yourself like this you'll soon
get to a figure where we can talk business!" Gilmore laughed.

"Perhaps I can raise a thousand dollars. I don't know why I should think
I can, but I'm willing to try; I'm willing to say I'll try--"

Gilmore shook his head.

"I've told you what you got to do, Marsh, and I mean every damn word I
say,--understand that? I'm going to have my money or I'm going to have
the fun of smashing you."

"Listen to me, Andy!" began Langham desperately.

"Why take me into your confidence?" asked the gambler coldly.

"What will you gain by ruining me?" repeated Langham fiercely.

The gambler only grinned.

"I am always willing to spend money on my pleasures; and besides when
those notes turn up, your father or some one else will have to come
across."

Langham was silent. He was staring out across the empty snow-strewn
Square at the lights in Archibald McBride's windows.

"Remember," said Gilmore, moving toward the door. "I'll talk to you when
you got two thousand dollars."

"Damn you, where do you think I'll get it?" cried Langham.

"I'm not good at guessing," laughed Gilmore.

He turned without another word or look and left the room. His footsteps
echoed loudly in the hall and on the stairs, and then there was silence
in the building. Langham was again looking out across the Square at the
lights in Archibald McBride's windows.

CHAPTER FOUR

ADVENTURE IN EARNEST

Mr. Shrimplin had made his way through a number of back streets without
adventure of any sort, and as the night and the storm closed swiftly in
about him, the shapes of himself, his cart and of wild Bill disappeared,
and there remained to mark his progress only the hissing sputtering
flame, that flared spectrally six feet in air as the little lamplighter
drove in and out of shabby unfrequented streets and alleys.

It had grown steadily colder with the approach of night, and the wind
had risen. The streets seemed deserted, and Mr. Shrimplin being as he
was of a somewhat fanciful turn of mind, could almost imagine himself
an