able to reach in his pocket and produce a bill of sufficient value to
cover the immediate investment, that was enough. But it is surprising
how brief a while ten dollars will suffice in a leisurely stroll on
Fifth Avenue. Within a block of the confectionery store two cravats
that took his fancy and a box of cigarettes called for his last bill,
and actually left him with nothing but a few odd pieces of silver.
Even this did not impress him as significant, because, as it
happened, his wants were for the moment fully satisfied.

It was a clear October day, and, quite unconscious of the distance,
Don continued up the Avenue to Sixtieth Street--to the house where he
was born. In the last ten years he had been away a good deal from that
house,--four years at Groton, four at Harvard,--but, even so, the
house had always remained in the background of his consciousness as a
fixed point.

Nora opened the door for him, as she had for twenty years.

"Are you to be here for dinner, sir?" she inquired.

"No, Nora," he answered; "I shall dine out to-night."

Nora appeared uneasy.

"The cook, sir, has received a letter--a very queer sort of letter,
sir--from a lawyer gentleman."

"Eh?"

"He said she was to keep two accounts, sir: one for the servants'
table and one for the house."

"Oh, that's probably from old Barton."

"Barton--yes, sir, that was the name. Shall I bring you the letter,
sir?"

"Don't bother, Nora. It's all right. He's my new bookkeeper."

"Very well, sir. Then you'll give orders for what you want?"

"Yes, Nora."

In the library an open fire was burning brightly on the hearth, as
always it had been kept burning for his father. With his hands behind
his back, he stood before it and gazed around the big room. It seemed
curiously empty with the old man gone. The machinery of the house as
adjusted by him still continued to run on smoothly. And yet, where at
certain hours he should have been, he was not. It was uncanny.

It was a little after one; Don determined to change his clothes and
stroll downtown for luncheon--possibly at Sherry's. He was always sure
there of running across some one he knew.

He went to his room and dressed with some care, and then walked down
to Forty-fourth Street. Before deciding to enter the dining-room,
however, he stood at the entrance a moment to see if there was any one
there he recognized. Jimmy Harndon saw him and rose at once.

"Hello, Jimmy," Don greeted him.

"Hel