g off
reporters and cranks and people with grievances. Oh, I tell you, Duane,
it's pitiable, all right!"

"There was a rumour yesterday of his suicide," said Duane in a low
voice. "I did not credit it."

Grandcourt shook his head: "He never would do that. He totally lacks
whatever you call it--cowardice or courage--to do that. It is not like
Dysart; it is not in him to do it. He never will, never could. I know
him, Duane."

Duane nodded.

Grandcourt spoke again: "He cares for few things; life is one of them.
His father, his social position, his harmless--success with women--"
Grandcourt hesitated, caught Duane's eye. Both men's features became
expressionless.

Duane said: "I had an exceedingly nice note from Rosalie the other day.
She has bought one of those double-deck apartments--but I fancy you know
about it."

"Yes," said Grandcourt, turning red. "She was good enough to ask my
opinion." He added with a laugh: "I shouldn't think anybody would want
my opinion after the way I've smashed my own affairs."

Duane smiled, too. "I've heard," he said, "that yours was the decentest
smash of the season. What is that scriptural business about--about a man
who lays down his fortune for a friend?"

"His _life_," corrected Grandcourt, very red, "but please don't confound
what I did with anything of importance to anybody." He lighted a cigar
from the burning match offered by Duane, very much embarrassed for a
moment, then suddenly brightened up:

"I'm in business now," he observed, with a glance at the other, partly
timid, partly of pride. "My father was thoroughly disgusted with me--and
nobody blames him--so he bought me a seat and, Duane, do you know that I
am doing rather well, considering that nobody is doing anything at all."

Duane laughed heartily, but his mirth did not hurt Grandcourt, who sat
smiling and enjoying his cigar, and looking with confidence into a face
that was so frankly and unusually friendly.

"You know I always admired you, Duane--even in the days when you never
bothered your head about me," he added naively. "Do you remember at
school the caricature you drew of me--all hands and feet and face, and
absolutely no body? I've got that yet; and I'm very proud to have it
when I hear people speak of your artistic success. Some day, if I ever
have any money again, I'll ask you to paint a better portrait of me, if
you have time."

They laughed again over this mild pleasantry; a cordial understanding