s rot--was
going to supper alone with him to-night--in his rooms after the opera.
Of course he was drunk and I wouldn't bet a cent on his word even when
he's sober. He's the kind of fool that tells of his conquests at the
club," he wound up with scathing contempt.

For a moment Adams, looking away from him, stared silently into a shop
window before which he stood--intent apparently upon the varied display
of antique silver. Then he turned squarely to Perry Bridewell and broke
into a short, hard laugh.

"Well, Brady lied," he said. "I promised Mrs. Adams that I would bring
her home from the opera." It was no hesitation in his own voice, but the
joyful relief which shone at him from Perry's face that brought him
suddenly to a stop. "You were a first-rate fellow to come to me," he
went on more quietly. "Of course, you know, our Western conventions are
much more elastic than your New York ones. All the same--"

"I merely wanted to let her know the kind of man he is," explained
Perry. "What do women understand about the men they meet--why, we all
look pretty much alike upon the surface." Then his righteous anger got
the better of his philosophy and he broke out in a heartfelt oath. "Damn
him! I'd like to thrash him clean out of his skin!"

"I am glad you told me," was all Adams said, but there was a reserved
strength in his voice which made the explosive violence of the other
sound the merest bravado. As he spoke the light flashed in his face, and
Perry saw that it was the face of an old and a tired man. There was a
shrinking in his eyes as of one who has stumbled unexpectedly upon a
revolting sight.

Of the many and varied emotions which had entered Perry's life, the
cleanest, perhaps, was his loyal regard for Roger Adams. It had begun
with his college days, had strengthened with his manhood, and had
lasted, in spite of the amiable contempt in which he held all
literature, with a constancy which had certainly not belonged to his
affairs with representatives of the opposite sex. Now as he looked at
Adams' haggard face under the electric light, he felt the tugging of a
sympathy so strong that it seemed to hurt him somewhere in his expansive
chest.

"Look here, old chap, come and dine with me at Sherry's," he burst out,
"and I'll telephone Gerty that I've thrown over that beastly dinner."

To offer something to eat to the afflicted was the solitary form in
which consolation appeared to him invested with solidity; and s