pay up his bills, but he had sufficient balance left to
redeem his black suit and wheel. The latter, by virtue of a twisted
crank-hanger, required repairing, and, as a matter of friendliness with
his future brother-in-law, he sent it to Von Schmidt's shop.

The afternoon of the same day Martin was pleased by the wheel being
delivered by a small boy. Von Schmidt was also inclined to be friendly,
was Martin's conclusion from this unusual favor. Repaired wheels usually
had to be called for. But when he examined the wheel, he discovered no
repairs had been made. A little later in the day he telephoned his
sister's betrothed, and learned that that person didn't want anything to
do with him in "any shape, manner, or form."

"Hermann von Schmidt," Martin answered cheerfully, "I've a good mind to
come over and punch that Dutch nose of yours."

"You come to my shop," came the reply, "an' I'll send for the police. An'
I'll put you through, too. Oh, I know you, but you can't make no rough-
house with me. I don't want nothin' to do with the likes of you. You're
a loafer, that's what, an' I ain't asleep. You ain't goin' to do no
spongin' off me just because I'm marryin' your sister. Why don't you go
to work an' earn an honest livin', eh? Answer me that."

Martin's philosophy asserted itself, dissipating his anger, and he hung
up the receiver with a long whistle of incredulous amusement. But after
the amusement came the reaction, and he was oppressed by his loneliness.
Nobody understood him, nobody seemed to have any use for him, except
Brissenden, and Brissenden had disappeared, God alone knew where.

Twilight was falling as Martin left the fruit store and turned homeward,
his marketing on his arm. At the corner an electric car had stopped, and
at sight of a lean, familiar figure alighting, his heart leapt with joy.
It was Brissenden, and in the fleeting glimpse, ere the car started up,
Martin noted the overcoat pockets, one bulging with books, the other
bulging with a quart bottle of whiskey.

CHAPTER XXXV

Brissenden gave no explanation of his long absence, nor did Martin pry
into it. He was content to see his friend's cadaverous face opposite him
through the steam rising from a tumbler of toddy.

"I, too, have not been idle," Brissenden proclaimed, after hearing
Martin's account of the work he had accomplished.

He pulled a manuscript from his inside coat pocket and passed it to
Martin, who looked