s--I am a widower."

"Sorry," said Prale. "Children?"

"No--not any children. I--I married Mary Slade."

"What?" Prale cried.

He stopped, aghast. Mary Slade had been the girl who had turned him down
for a man with money--and that man had not been George Lerton, who did
not have as much as five thousand at that time.

"It--it's a peculiar story," Lerton said. "You went away so quick--after
you quarreled with her. And that other man--she threw him over, soon.
She couldn't endure him, even with all his money. She regretted her
quarrel with you. I'm quite sure she wanted you for a time. I got to
taking her about. You didn't write, and she was too proud to look you
up, and so--after a time----"

"You married her," said Prale.

"About three years after you went away, Sid. She died after we had been
married a year."

"But she always wanted money, and I had as much as you."

"I made a strike soon after you left, Sid. I plunged with my five
thousand, and turned it into a hundred thousand inside four months. I
kept on, and got more. I was worth almost half a million when we were
married."

"I see. Well, there are no hard feelings, George. She was a good woman,
in a way, and I'm sorry you lost her. I suppose we'll have to get
together, for old time's sake."

"Are you going to stay here long, Sid?"

"Long? I've sold out all my Honduras holdings, and I'm here to spend the
rest of my days. I've come home for good, George. The United States is
plenty good enough for me. I'm going to be a civilized gentleman from
now on."

"You--you're not going back?"

"Why should I? I brought that million with me. I left nothing in
Honduras except a few friends. I suppose I'll run down there some day
and see them, but this is going to be home, you can bet."

"Don't do it, Sid!" Lerton exclaimed.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't stay here, Sid. Get out as quick as you can! Go back to
Honduras--anywhere--but don't stay in New York."

"Why shouldn't I? What on earth is the matter with you? Are you insane?"

"I--I can't tell you, Sid. But you are in danger if you don't leave New
York. I can tell you that much. That's why I didn't call at the hotel;
I'm afraid. Sid, I'm afraid to have anybody see me talking to you. If
you came to my office, I'd refuse to see you----"

"Why?" demanded Sidney Prale, in a stern voice.

"I--I can't explain, Sid."

"I've endured a lot of nonsense to-day, and I'm not going to endure any
more!" Prale said