sart stood by the window looking
out; Duane paid him no further attention until he wheeled slowly and
said:

"Do you mind if I have a word with you, Mallett?"

"Not if it is necessary."

"I don't know whether it is necessary."

"Don't bother about it if you are in the slightest doubt."

Dysart waited a moment, perhaps for some unpleasant emotion to subside;
then:

"I'll sit down a moment, if you permit."

He dropped into one of the big, deep, leather chairs and touched the
bell. A servant came; he looked across at Duane, hesitated to speak:

"Thank you," said Duane curtly. "I've cut it out."

"Scotch. Bring the decanter," murmured Dysart to the servant.

When it was served he drained the glass, refilled it, and turned in the
rest of the mineral water. Before he spoke he emptied the glass again
and rang for more mineral water. Then he looked at Duane and said in a
low voice:

"I thought you were worried the other day when I saw you at my house."

"What is that to you?"

Dysart said: "You were very kind--under provocation."

"I was not kind on your account."

"I understand. But I don't forget such things."

Duane glanced at him in profound contempt. Here was the stereotyped
scoundrel with the classical saving trait--the one conventionally
inevitable impulse for good shining like a diamond on a muck-heap--his
apparently disinterested affection for his father.

"You were very decent to me that day," Dysart said. "You had something
to say to me--but were good enough not to. I came over to-night to give
you a chance to curse me out. It's the square thing to do."

"What do you know about square dealing?"

"Go on."

"I have nothing to add."

"Then I have if you'll let me." He paused; the other remained silent.
"I've this to say: you are worried sick; I saw that. What worries you
concerns your father. You were merciful to mine. I'll do what I can for
you."

He swallowed half of what remained in his iced glass, set it back on the
table with fastidious precision:

"The worst that can happen to your father is to lose control of the Yo
Espero property. I think he is going to lose it. They've crowded me out.
If I could have endured the strain I'd have stood by your father--for
what you did for mine.... But I couldn't, Mallett."

He moistened his lips again; leaned forward:

"I think I know one thing about you, anyway; and I'm not afraid you'd
ever use any words of mine against me----"

"Don't say th