ed by a street
railway company and another by a promoting syndicate. I took a room
and waited. It has been a long wait, Barstow, a bitter long wait.
Four barren years have gone. I have been hungry again; I have gone on
wearing second-hand clothes; I have slept in second-class surroundings;
my life has resembled life about as much as the naked trees in the Fall
resemble those in June. I have existed after a fashion and learned
that if I skimp and drudge and save for twenty years I can then begin
to do the things I wish to do. But not before,--not before without
compromise. And I 've had enough of the will o' the wisp Future,
enough of the shadowy to-morrows. I 've saved a few hundreds and had a
few hundreds left me recently by the last relative I had on earth. I
'd like to take this and squander it--live a space."

"Why don't you?"

"It's the curse of coming back, and the mere fact that your heart
continues to tick forces that upon you. There is only one way--one way
to dodge the mortgage I would place upon my Future by spending these
savings."

"And that?"

"Not to let the heart tick on; to bar the future."

Donaldson moved a bit uneasily. As he did so the pup lost his balance
and fell to the floor. The little fellow struck upon his side but
instantly regained his feet, blinking sleepily at the light. Barstow
took out his watch and squatting nearer him studied him with interest.

Suddenly the dog's legs crumpled beneath him. He tried to stand, to
make his way to his master, but instantly toppled over on his side.
Donaldson reached for him. That which he lifted was like a limp glove.
He drew back from it in horror, glancing up at Barstow.

"You see," exclaimed the chemist with evident satisfaction, "almost to
the hour!"

"But he isn't--"

"Dead!"

"Poor Sandy! Poor Sandy!"

Donaldson gingerly passed his fingers over the dog's hair. He was
curiously unconvinced. There was no responsive lift of the head, no
contented wagging of the tail, but that was the only difference. A
moment ago the dog had been asleep for an hour; now he was asleep for
an eternity. That was the only difference.

"Well," reflected Barstow, "Sandy had his week; beefsteak, bread and
milk, all he could eat."

"Is n't that better than being still alive,--hungry in the gutters?"

"God knows," answered Barstow solemnly, as he picked up the body and
carried it into the next room. "You see what is left."

As Barstow we