ld on."

"You seem to be mighty confident."

"If you knew what I know, you'd be confident too."

Peter frowned.

"I don't like discussing these things, but--they mean so much."

"So much to all of us," nodded Monte. "Now, the thing to do is to turn
in and get a good night's sleep. After all, there _is_ something in
keeping normal."

CHAPTER XXI

BACK TO SCHEDULE

Monte rose the next morning to find the skies leaden and a light,
drizzling rain falling that promised to continue all day. It was the
sort of weather that ordinarily left him quite helpless, because, not
caring for either bridge or billiards, nothing remained but to pace the
hotel piazza--an amusement that under the most favorable conditions has
its limitations. But to-day--even though the rain had further
interfered with his arrangements by making it necessary to cancel the
trip he had planned for Marjory and Peter to Cannes--the weather was an
inconsequential incident. It did not matter greatly to him whether it
rained or not.

Not that he was depressed to indifference. Rather he was conscious of
a certain nervous excitement akin to exhilaration that he had not felt
since the days of the big games, when he used to get up with his blood
tingling in heady anticipation of the task before him. He took his
plunge with hearty relish, and rubbed his body until it glowed with the
Turkish towel.

His arm was free of the sling now, and, though it was still a bit
stiff, it was beginning to limber up nicely. In another week it would
be as good as new, with only a slight scar left to serve as a reminder
of the episode that had led to so much. In time that too would
disappear; and then-- But he was not concerned with the future. That,
any more than the weather, was no affair of his.

This morning Marjory would perforce remain indoors, and so if he went
to see her it was doubtful whether he would be interfering with any
plans she might have made for Peter. An hour was all he
needed--perhaps less. This would leave the two the remainder of the
day free--and, after that, all the days to come. There would be
hundreds of them--all the days of the summer, all the days of the fall,
all the days of the winter, and all the days of the spring; then
another summer, and so a new cycle full of days twenty-four hours long.

Out of these he was going to take one niggardly hour. Nor was he
asking that little for his own sake. Eager as he was--as he ha