ored waiter in a white linen
suit brought them whisky and Apollinaris in tall tumblers.

"Listen," Nesbitt said. "My brain is on the reel still. I went back
to my office, and if it hadn't been for the little girl, I should have
brought a revolver by the way. Old Johnny there waiting to see me, no
end of a swell, Phillson, the uptown lawyer. He went straight for me.

"'Been dealing in Hardwells?' he asked.

"I nodded.

"'Short, eh?'

"'Six hundred shares,' I answered. There was no harm in telling him for
the Street knew well enough.

"'Bad job,' he said. 'How much does Wingrave want?'

"'Shares at par,' I answered. 'It comes to close on fifty-seven thousand
six hundred dollars.'

"'I'm going to find you the money,' he said.

"Then I can tell you the things in my office began to swim. I'd an idea
somehow that he was there as a friend, but nothing like this. I couldn't
answer him.

"'It's a delicate piece of business,' he went on. 'In fact, the fewer
questions you ask the better. All I can say is there's a chap in Wall
Street got his eye on you. Your old dad once helped him over a much
worse place than this. Anyhow, I've a check here for sixty thousand
dollars, and no conditions, only that you don't talk.'

"'But when am I to pay it back?' I gasped.

"'If my client ever needs it, and you can afford it, he will ask for
it.' Phillson answered. 'That's all.'

"And before I could say another darned word, he was gone, and the check
was there on my desk."

Aynesworth sipped his whisky and Apollinaris, and lit a cigarette.

"And they say," he murmured, "that romance does not exist in Wall
Street. You're a lucky chap, Nesbitt."

"Lucky! Do you think I don't realize it? Of course, I know the old
governor had lots of friends on the Street, but he was never in a
big way, and he got hit awfully hard himself before he died. I can't
understand it anyway."

"I wouldn't try," Aynesworth remarked, laughing. "By the bye, your
friend, whoever he was, must have got to know pretty quickly."

Nesbitt nodded.

"I thought of that," he said. "Of course, Phillsons are lawyers for
Malcolmson, Wingrave's broker, so I daresay it came from him. Say,
Aynesworth, you don't mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all," Aynesworth answered. "What is it?"

"Why the devil do you stop with a man like Wingrave? He doesn't seem
your sort at all."

Aynesworth hesitated.

"Wingrave interests me," he answered. "He has had a curious li