all this money we've kept together for you?'

"His voice was low, but his face was purple and he snapped his words
off short as if their utterance hurt him.

"'With your permission, sir,' I said quietly, 'I expect to give a
great deal of it away.'

"Roger, he couldn't speak for rage. He glared at me again and then,
jamming his hat on his head, stalked stiffly out. Oh, I've made a
mess of things, I suppose," he sighed, "but I can't help it. I'm sick
of the whole miserable business."

I made no comment. I had foreseen this interview, but it had come much
sooner than I had expected. I felt that I had known Jerry's mind and
what he would do eventually, but it was rather startling that he had
come to so momentous a decision and had expressed it so vigorously at
the very outset of his career. It was curious, too, as I remembered
things that had gone before, how nearly his resolution coincided with
the one boyishly confessed to the female, Una Smith, in the cabin in
the woods last summer. At the time, I recalled, the matter had made no
great impression upon me. I had not believed that Jerry could realize
what he was promising. But here he was reiterating the promise at the
very seats of the mighty.

The subject was too vast a one for me to grasp at once. I wanted to
think about it. Besides, he didn't ask my advice. I don't think he
really wanted it. I looked at Jerry's chin. It _was_ square. For all
his sophistries, Jack Ballard was no mean judge of human nature.

CHAPTER X

MARCIA

Jerry came down to the breakfast table attired in tweeds of a rather
violent pattern, knickerbockers and spats. He wore a plaid shirt with
turnover cuffs, a gay scarf and a handkerchief just showing a neat
triangle of the same color at his upper coat pocket. This
handkerchief, he informed me airily, was his "show-er." He kept the
"blow-er" in his trousers. At all events, he was much pleased when I
told him that the symphony was complete.

"The linen, _allegro_, the cravat, _adagio con amore_, the
suit--there's too much of the _scherzo_ in the suit, my boy."

"_Con amore?_" he asked, looking up from his oatmeal.

"Yes," I said calmly, for not until this moment had I guessed the
truth. "_Con amore_," I repeated. "I could hardly have hoped, if Miss
Marcia Van Wyck had not come to the neighborhood, that you would have
done me the honor of a visit."

It was a random shot, but it struck home, for he reddened ever so
slightly.