me of the oil. He was thirty-two and was still at it;
spent his life, literally, among the breakers. His motor hit the
Park every morning as if it were the first time ever. He took people
out to supper every night. He went from restaurant to restaurant,
sometimes to half-a-dozen in an evening. The head waiters were his
hosts and their cordiality made him happy. They made a life-line for
him up Broadway and down Fifth Avenue. Cavenaugh was still fresh and
smooth, round and plump, with a lustre to his hair and white teeth
and a clear look in his round eyes. He seemed absolutely unwearied
and unimpaired; never bored and never carried away.

Eastman always smiled when he met Cavenaugh in the entrance hall,
serenely going forth to or returning from gladiatorial combats with
joy, or when he saw him rolling smoothly up to the door in his car
in the morning after a restful night in one of the remarkable new
roadhouses he was always finding. Eastman had seen a good many young
men disappear on Cavenaugh's route, and he admired this young man's
endurance.

To-night, for the first time, he had got a whiff of something
unwholesome about the fellow--bad nerves, bad company, something on
hand that he was ashamed of, a visitor old and vicious, who must
have had a key to Cavenaugh's apartment, for he was evidently there
when Cavenaugh returned at seven o'clock. Probably it was the same
man Cavenaugh had seen in the hansom. He must have been able to let
himself in, for Cavenaugh kept no man but his chauffeur; or perhaps
the janitor had been instructed to let him in. In either case, and
whoever he was, it was clear enough that Cavenaugh was ashamed of
him and was mixing up in questionable business of some kind.

Eastman sent Cavenaugh's book back by Rollins, and for the next few
weeks he had no word with him beyond a casual greeting when they
happened to meet in the hall or the elevator. One Sunday morning
Cavenaugh telephoned up to him to ask if he could motor out to a
roadhouse in Connecticut that afternoon and have supper; but when
Eastman found there were to be other guests he declined.

* * * * *

On New Year's eve Eastman dined at the University Club at six
o'clock and hurried home before the usual manifestations of insanity
had begun in the streets. When Rollins brought his smoking coat, he
asked him whether he wouldn't like to get off early.

"Yes, sir. But won't you be dressing, Mr. Eastman?"