ly sober to play a decent game
of cards, Roger."

He looked aggrieved. "I was sober--almost. Sober enough, anyway. It was
luck, I tell you--just the beastly rotten luck I always have. I never
did have any luck, from the day I was born. Why, any other chap, with my
chances ..."

"Roger," interrupted his sister shortly, as if she had not heard him at
all. "Why do you find it necessary to throw away every cent you get?
What's your idea?"

"My idea?"

"Yes. What's in your head about the future? What are you going to do
with yourself? What do you think about--about--oh, things in general?"

He looked his bewilderment. "I'm afraid I don't quite connect, sis ..."

"I want to know if you've--well--I'd like to know ... just how you stand
with yourself."

Her brother eyed her curiously. "What's struck you anyway?" he demanded.
"What's happened to make you take on like this all of a sudden?"

"Nothing. It's not sudden. I've wanted to have this talk with you for a
long time--not that it does any good ... we'll probably drag along the
same old way." She sat thoughtfully silent for a moment. "I'll draw you
a cheque, of course," she added listlessly. "You must pay up your debts
at once. But you do worry me ..."

"Miss Wynrod?"

"What is it, Huldah?"

Roger stopped his discourse and the maid advanced with a card. Judith
took it and knitted her brows as she read.

"Who is it, sis?"

"'Brent Good,'" she read, "_'The Workman's World'_"

"Well, he has got nerve," cried Roger. "That's that Socialist sheet,
isn't it? Why, they take a crack at us once a week regular. And now
they've got the gall to send a man out here. Tell him to go to the
devil."

Judith turned to the maid. "Tell him that I am not at home, please,
Huldah."

"I thought that would be the message," said a cheerful voice beyond the
hedge, "so I didn't wait for it." A moment later a tall figure of a man
emerged and took off his hat with an awkward bow.

"Good morning, Miss Wynrod." His bronzed, angular face, with its
deep-set eyes and wide mouth, softened in a smile which was undeniably
pleasing.

Judith surveyed his shabby figure, compounded of all manner of curious
depressions and protuberances, and half smiled herself. His cheerfulness
was infectious. Also, his appearance was almost comic, which was
paradoxical in a representative of so savage an organ as _The Workman's
World_. Then she recalled the circumstances of his intrusion, and when
she spoke