an't go on in the firm. Bangs is
dishonest, but she won't believe it. She thinks I don't know. They both
think I'm a cipher. I _am_ a cipher. But they've made me one. Get so
discouraged, then go break over like this. Promised Flo never would take
another drink. But it's no use. Can't help myself. I'm done for. Just a
cipher, a cipher, a ci----"

Quin standing by the bed waiting for him to get through adding noughts to
his opinion of himself, suddenly leaned forward and examined the picture
that hung above the table. It was of an imperial old lady in black
velvet, with a string of pearls about her throat and a tiara on her
towering white pompadour. His glance swept from the photograph to the
flushed face with the tragic eyes on the pillow, and he seemed to hear a
querulous old voice repeating: "Ranny--I want Ranny. Why don't they send
for Ranny?"

With two strides he was at the door.

"Are you Mrs. Randolph Bartlett?" he asked of the lady who was nervously
pacing the hall.

"Yes; why?"

"Because they sent me after him. It's his mother, you see--she's hurt."

"Madam Bartlett? What's happened?"

"She fell down the steps and broke her leg."

"How terrible! But she mustn't know about him," cried Mrs. Ranny in
instant alarm. "It always makes her furious when he breaks over; and yet,
she is to blame--she drives him to it."

"How do you mean?" asked Quin, plunging into the situation with his usual
temerity.

"I mean that she has dominated him, soul and body, ever since he was
born!" cried Mrs. Ranny passionately. "She has forced him to stay in the
business when every detail of it is distasteful to him. His life is a
perfect hell there under Mr. Bangs. He ought to have an outdoor life. He
loves animals--he ought to be on a ranch." She pulled herself up with an
effort. "Forgive me for going into all this before a stranger, but I am
almost beside myself. Of course I am sorry for Madam Bartlett, but what
can I do? You can see for yourself that my husband is in no condition to
go to her."

"Can't you say he's sick?"

"She wouldn't believe it. She's suspicious of everything I do and say. Do
you _have_ to take back an answer?"

"I told the old lady I'd find him for her. You see, I'm a--sort of a
friend of Miss Eleanor's."

Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Ranny would have been the last to
accept this without an explanation; but there were too many other
problems pressing for her to worry about this one.

"I wonde