doing!"

He took most of it down at a gulp.

Noticing the anxious look in my eyes.

"Don't worry about me, Johnnie. I can take it or leave it alone ...
--always could!"

* * * * *

Before Mrs. Jenkins could come back, Hartman anticipated her with a
nurse and a doctor. As Mrs. Jenkins came in, chagrin and indignation
showed on her face. But she bowed perforce to the situation. She was too
wise not to.

"His lodge-brothers are taking care of Mr. Gregory now, Mrs. Jenkins,"
explained Mr. Hartman suavely, warning her off, at the same time, with a
severe, understanding look in his eyes.

She dropped her eyelashes--though with a bit of instinctive coquetry in
them--under his straight-thrusting glance.

"Well, I suppose professional care _would_ be better than anything I
could do for him ... but," sweetly, "I'll drop in from time to time to
see if there's any little thing I can do."

* * * * *

Deprived of the loving care of Emily Jenkins, though he called for her
many times, my father mended his condition rapidly. And, after a long,
mysterious conference with Hartman and other members of his fraternal
order, he consented to allow himself to be sent West on a visit. But not
till they had promised to keep his job as foreman in the Composite
Works, open for him, till he was well enough to come back.

After I had seen my father off, I stayed in the silent rooms only long
enough to pack up my books, which I left in care of Hartman.

I had at last arrived at a definite plan of action.

My grandfather was transacting some sort of business in Washington, as
my uncle, Jim, had informed me. There he was living in affluence,
married again, in his old age ... just like his former wife.

I had evolved a scheme which seemed to me both clever and feasible, by
which to extract from him a few hundred or a thousand dollars with which
to prosecute my studies further, and enter, eventually, say, Princeton
or Harvard ... perhaps Oxford.

* * * * *

I found my grandfather holding forth in a swell suite of offices in the
business district of Washington.

Near his great desk, with a little table and typewriter, sat a girl,
very pretty--he would see to that!... evidently his stenographer and
private secretary.

As I stood by the railing, she observed me coldly once or twice, looking
me over, before she thrust her pencil in her abundant