lderwell left Boston and did not return until more than a month had
passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, was to look up Mr. M.
J. Arkwright at the address which Billy had given him.

Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they parted in Paris some
two years before, after a six-months tramp through Europe together.
Calderwell liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost no time now in
renewing the acquaintance.

The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an attractive but modest
apartment hotel near the Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was
delighted to find Arkwright at home in his comfortable little bachelor
suite.

Arkwright greeted him most cordially.

"Well, well," he cried, "if it isn't Calderwell! And how's Mont Blanc?
Or is it the Killarney Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I
should inquire for, eh?"

"Guess again," laughed Calderwell, throwing off his heavy coat and
settling himself comfortably in the inviting-looking morris chair his
friend pulled forward.

"Sha'n't do it," retorted Arkwright, with a smile. "I never gamble on
palpable uncertainties, except for a chance throw or two, as I gave
a minute ago. Your movements are altogether too erratic, and too
far-reaching, for ordinary mortals to keep track of."

"Well, maybe you're right," grinned Calderwell, appreciatively. "Anyhow,
you would have lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working."

"Seen the doctor yet?" queried Arkwright, coolly, pushing the cigars
across the table.

"Thanks--for both," sniffed Calderwell, with a reproachful glance,
helping himself. "Your good judgment in some matters is still
unimpaired, I see," he observed, tapping the little gilded band which
had told him the cigar was an old favorite. "As to other matters,
however,--you're wrong again, my friend, in your surmise. I am not sick,
and I have been working."

"So? Well, I'm told they have very good specialists here. Some one
of them ought to hit your case. Still--how long has it been running?"
Arkwright's face showed only grave concern.

"Oh, come, let up, Arkwright," snapped Calderwell, striking his match
alight with a vigorous jerk. "I'll admit I haven't ever given any
_special_ indication of an absorbing passion for work. But what can you
expect of a fellow born with a whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth?
And that's what I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. According to him
again, it's a wonder I ever tried to feed myself; and perhap