a sneer in his voice. "I know I loaned you
some the other day."

"Do you think that lasted until now?" inquired Simon Scardale, glancing
down at his patent leather shoes. "I'm short of ready money now, and if
we can get your friend Hamilton into a game of billiards I think I can
beat him."

"He's no friend of mine," returned Guy, with a short laugh. "He isn't my
kind, even if his father is a millionaire."

"That's the main reason why you ought to cultivate his acquaintance,"
returned Simon. "It pays to keep in with such fellows. But here he is.
Let me do the talking. You needn't play if you don't want to."

The two boys, who in spite of their fine clothes, did not have an air of
good breeding, watched the approach of Dick Hamilton as he sauntered
down the main street of the town that pleasant afternoon late in June.

Dick was a boy a little above the average height, well built, with
curling brown hair and eyes of the same hue. The eyes were bright and
clear, and, when he looked at you they seemed to glint like moss agates,
as some of his friends used to say.

"And you ought to see them when he's excited," one of Dick's
acquaintances once remarked. "His eyes sparkle and seem to look right
through you."

It needed but a glance to see that Dick was well dressed, with that
careless air of studied negligence which so marks the person accustomed
to fine raiment. Dick wore his garments as if he was "used to them and
not dressed up," as Fred Murdock remarked. There was that about him
which at once proclaimed him for what he was--the son of a very wealthy
man, for his father, Mortimer Hamilton, counted his fortune in the
millions.

As Dick came opposite the place whence issued that peculiar sound,
produced by ivory balls hitting against one another, he was hailed by
Simon Scardale.

"I say, Dick, come in and have a little game of billiards?"

Dick paused and looked at the speaker with a quizzical glance.

"Who's going to play?" he asked.

"Why--er--I--am--for one," replied Simon. "And maybe Guy, here, will take
a cue. I'll bet I can beat you, and I'll give you twenty-five points to
start with. I'll bet you ten dollars----"

"No, thanks," answered Dick, in rather languid tones, but the sparkle in
his brown eyes showed there was more spirit in the words than at first
might be apparent. "I don't believe I care to play."

"Afraid I'll beat you!" exclaimed Simon, with a sneer.

"You were very far from doing that t