, some of my
crowd are giving a little dinner for me at Rector's to-night.
Couldn't you be persuaded, as it's a farewell occasion?" Cavenaugh
looked at him hopefully.

Eastman laughed and shook his head. "Sorry, Cavenaugh, but that's
too gay a world for me. I've got too much work lined up before me. I
wish I had time to stop and look at your guns, though. You seem to
know something about guns. You've more than you'll need, but nobody
can have too many good ones." He put down one of the revolvers
regretfully. "I'll drop in to see you in the morning, if you're up."

"I shall be up, all right. I've warned my crowd that I'll cut away
before midnight."

"You won't, though," Eastman called back over his shoulder as he
hurried down-stairs.

The next morning, while Eastman was dressing, Rollins came in
greatly excited.

"I'm a little late, sir. I was stopped by Harry, Mr. Cavenaugh's
driver. Mr. Cavenaugh shot himself last night, sir."

Eastman dropped his vest and sat down on his shoe-box. "You're
drunk, Rollins," he shouted. "He's going away to-day!"

"Yes, sir. Harry found him this morning. Ah, he's quite dead, sir.
Harry's telephoned for the coroner. Harry don't know what to do with
the ticket."

Eastman pulled on his coat and ran down the stairway. Cavenaugh's
trunks were strapped and piled before the door. Harry was walking up
and down the hall with a long green railroad ticket in his hand and
a look of complete stupidity on his face.

"What shall I do about this ticket, Mr. Eastman?" he whispered. "And
what about his trunks? He had me tell the transfer people to come
early. They may be here any minute. Yes, sir. I brought him home in
the car last night, before twelve, as cheerful as could be."

"Be quiet, Harry. Where is he?"

"In his bed, sir."

Eastman went into Cavenaugh's sleeping-room. When he came back to
the sitting-room, he looked over the writing table; railway folders,
time-tables, receipted bills, nothing else. He looked up for the
photograph of Cavenaugh's twin brother. There it was, turned to the
wall. Eastman took it down and looked at it; a boy in track clothes,
half lying in the air, going over the string shoulders first, above
the heads of a crowd of lads who were running and cheering. The face
was somewhat blurred by the motion and the bright sunlight. Eastman
put the picture back, as he found it. Had Cavenaugh entertained his
visitor last night, and had the old man been more convincing