nd. "I am very pleased indeed to meet you. We got your telegram, but
thought it best not to give it to Dick. I took the liberty of opening
it myself. You see we can't be too careful about these little details.
I told the porter to look after you and let me know the moment you
came. Of course you are very anxious about your boy."

"I am," said the old man firmly. "That's why I'm here."

"Certainly, certainly. So are we all, and I presume I'm the most
anxious man of the lot. Now what you want to know is how he is getting
along?"

"Yes; I want to know the truth."

"Well, unfortunately, the truth is about as gloomy as it can be. He's
been going from bad to worse, and no man is more sorry than I am."

"Do you mean to tell me so?"

"Yes. There is no use deluding ourselves. Frankly, I have no hope for
him. There is not one chance in ten thousand of his recovering his lost
ground."

The old man caught his breath, and leaned on his cane for support. He
realised now the hollowness of his previous anger. He had never for a
moment believed the boy was going to the bad. Down underneath his
crustiness was a deep love for his son and a strong faith in him. He
had allowed his old habit of domineering to get the better of him, and
now in searching after a phantom he had suddenly come upon a ghastly
reality.

"Look here," said the banker, noticing his agitation, "have a drink of
our Special Scotch with me. It is the best there is to be had for
money. We always take off our hats when we speak of the Special in this
club. Then we'll go and see how things are moving."

As he turned to order the liquor he noticed for the first time the
placard on the cup.

"Now, who the dickens put that there?" he cried angrily. "There's no
use in giving up before you're thrashed." Saying which, he took off the
placard, tore it up, and threw it into the waste basket.

"Does Richard drink?" asked the old man huskily, remembering the eulogy
on the Special.

"Bless you, no. Nor smoke either. No, nor gamble, which is more
extraordinary. No, it's all right for old fellows like you and me to
indulge in the Special--bless it--but a young man who needs to keep his
nerves in order, has to live like a monk. I imagine it's a love affair.
Of course, there's no use asking you: you would be the last one to
know. When he came in to-night I saw he was worried over something. I
asked him what it was, but he declared there was nothing wrong. Here's
the liquor.