l and more than they had unconsciously wrung
from him in the squalid days of a poverty for which no equality he might
now enjoy, no liberty of license, no fraternity in dissipation, could
wholly compensate.

He was fairly on the outer boundary now, though still very far outside.
But a needy gentleman inside was already compromised and practically
pledged to support him; for his meeting with Jack Ruthven through Gerald
had proven of greatest importance. He had lost gracefully to Ruthven;
and in doing it had taken that gentleman's measure. And though Ruthven
himself was a member of the Siowitha, Neergard had made no error in
taking him secretly into the deal where together they were now in a
position to exploit the club, from which Ruthven, of course, would
resign in time to escape any assessment himself.

Neergard's progress had now reached this stage; his programme was
simple--to wallow among the wealthy until satiated, then to marry into
that agreeable community and found the house of Neergard. And to that
end he had already bought a building site on Fifth Avenue, but held it
in the name of the firm as though it had been acquired for purposes
purely speculative.

* * * * *

About that time Boots Lansing very quietly bought a house on Manhattan
Island. It was a small, narrow, three-storied house of brick, rather
shabby on the outside, and situated on a modest block between Lexington
and Park avenues, where the newly married of the younger set were
arriving in increasing numbers, prepared to pay the penalty for all love
matches.

It was an unexpected move to Selwyn; he had not been aware of Lansing's
contemplated desertion; and that morning, returning from his final
interview with Neergard, he was astonished to find his comrade's room
bare of furniture, and a hasty and exclamatory note on his own table:

"Phil! I've bought a house! Come and see it! You'll find me in it!
Carpetless floors and unpapered walls! It's the happiest day of my life!

"Boots!!!! House-owner!!!"

And Selwyn, horribly depressed, went down after a solitary luncheon and
found Lansing sitting on a pile of dusty rugs, ecstatically inspecting
the cracked ceiling.

"So this is the House that Boots built!" he said.

"Phil! It's a dream!"

"Yes--a bad one. What the devil do you mean by clearing out? What do you
want with a house, anyhow?--you infernal idiot!"

"A house? Man, I've always wanted one! I've dr