few of us in the
office knew. Never got to the newspapers."

It was impossible for Warrington to digest this astounding information
at once. His mind could only repeat the phrases: no scandal, only a
few of us in the office knew, never got to the newspapers. For ten
years he had hidden himself in wildernesses, avoided hotels, read no
American newspapers, never called for mail. Oh, monumental fool!

"And I could have come home almost at once!" he said aloud, addressing
the crumpled check in his hand rather than the man in the swivel-chair.

"Yes. I have often wondered where you were, what you were doing. You
and your brother were upper-classmen. I never knew Arthur very well;
but you and I were chummy, after a fashion. Arthur was a little too
bookish for my style. Didn't we use to call you Old Galahad? You were
always walloping the bullies and taking the weaker chaps under your
wing. To me, you were the last man in the world for this business.
Moreover, I never could understand, nor could father, how you got it,
for you were not an office-man. Women and cards, I suppose. Father
said that you had the making of a great engineer. Fierce place, this
old town," waving his hand toward the myriad sparkling roofs and towers
and spires. "Have to be strong and hard-headed to survive it. Built
anything since you've been away?"

"In Cashmir." To have thrown away a decade!

"Glad you kept your hand in. I dare say you've seen a lot of life." To
the younger man it was an extremely awkward interview.

"Yes; I've seen life," dully.

"Orient, mostly, I suppose. Your letter about the strike in oil was
mighty interesting. Heap of money over there, if they'd only let us
smart chaps in to dig it up. Now, old man, I want you to wipe the
slate clear of these ten years. We'll call it a bad dream. What are
your plans for the future?"

"Plans?" Warrington looked up blankly. He realized that he had made
no plans for the future.

"Yes. What do you intend to do? A man like you wasn't made for
idleness. Look here, Paul; I'm not going to beat about the bush.
We've got a whopping big contract from the Chinese government, and we
need a man to take charge, a man who knows and understands something of
the yellow people. How about a salary of ten thousand a year for two
years, to begin in October?"

Warrington twisted the check. Work, rehabilitation.

"Could you trust me?" he asked quietly.

"With anything I have