l's paradise. That's what
hurts!"

CHAPTER XXVII

PATSIE'S SCHEME

When Bojo returned home after a brief stolen interview with Patsie, he
could hardly believe what he had himself witnessed. It seemed incredible
that all that magnificence and luxury might be dissipated in a night,
could depend upon the wavering of an hour in a mad exchange. But deeper
than the feeling of impending disaster--which he even now could not
realize--was the disclosure of the true state of affairs in the Drake
household. Without telling Patsie the extent of her father's danger, he
had told of Drake's applying to his wife for assistance and her refusal.
Then Patsie brokenly had told her part, how she had pled with her mother
and sought in vain to place before her the true seriousness of the
situation, her father's peril and his instant need. To entreaties and
remonstrances Mrs. Drake remained deaf, sheltering herself behind an
invariable answer. Why should she throw good money after bad? What was
to be gained by it? If he had thrown away the family fortune, all the
more reason for her to save what she had. The worst was that Dolly was
abroad and Doris and her husband were cruising off Palm Beach and the
telegram they sent might not reach them in time.

The next morning Bojo waited fitfully for the opening of the Stock
Exchange, with the dreaded memories of Haggerdy's prophecies running in
his head. It took him back to the days when he himself had been a part
of the vast maelstrom of speculation. He breakfasted with one eye on the
clock waiting for the hands to advance to the fatal hour of ten. At five
minutes past that hour he went feverishly across the way to the ticker
in the neighboring hotel brokerage. He had a feeling as though he were
being sucked back into the old life of violent emotions and unreal
theatrical upsets. He remembered the day before the drop in Pittsburgh &
New Orleans when he had waited in the Hauk and Flaspoller offices
matching quarters with Forshay to endure the last few intervening
minutes before the crisis which was to sweep away their fortunes as a
tidal wave obliterates a valley. He had not understood then the ironical
laughter in Forshay's eyes, but as he came back again to the old
associations he felt himself living over with a new poignant
understanding the final act of that tragedy.

Between the Tom Crocker of those breathless days and the ordered self
which he had built up during these last months