going,
to bring our cars in first, he's lent his fame as a racing driver to
help us along. And now everything is fixed the way we want, he's
thrown out. What did he do it for? He thought he needed to square
accounts with you, for being born, I suppose; so when he heard how
things were going with us he came to me and offered his help. At
least, that's what he said. I believe he came because he couldn't bear
to see the place go under."

There was a skein of blue silk swinging over the edge of the table.
Mr. Ffrench picked it up and replaced it in Emily's work-basket before
replying.

"If this remarkable story is true," he began, accurately precise in
accent.

"You don't need me to tell you it is," retorted Bailey. "You know what
my new manager's been doing; why, you disliked him without seeing him,
but you had to admit his good work. And I heard you talking about his
allowance, Mr. Ffrench. He never touched it, not from the first; it
piled up for six years. Last April, when we needed cash in a hurry, he
drew it out and gave it to me to buy aluminum. When he left here first
he drove a taxicab in New York City until he got into racing work and
made Darling Lestrange famous all over the continent. I guess it went
pretty hard for a while; if he'd been the things you called him, he'd
have gone to the devil alone in New York. But, he didn't."

An oriole darted in one arcade and out again with a musical whir of
wings. The clink of glass and silver sounded from the house windows
with a pleasant cheeriness and suggestion of comfort and plenty.

"He made good," Bailey concluded thoughtfully. "But it sounded queer
to me to hear you tell him you didn't want him around because Mr. Dick
took his place. I know, and Miss Emily knows, that Dick Ffrench was no
use on earth for any place until Mr. David took him in hand and made
him fit to live. That's all, I guess, that I had to say; I'll get back
to work." He turned, but paused to glance around. "It's going to be
pretty dull at the factory for me. And between us we've sent Lestrange
to the track with a nice set of nerves."

His retreating footsteps died away to leave the noon hush unbroken. As
before, uncle and niece were left opposite each other, the crumpled
newspaper where Lestrange's name showed in heavy type still lying on
the floor between them.

The effect of Bailey's final sentence had been to leave Emily dizzied
by apprehension. But when Mr. Ffrench rose and passed out,