'll give him a
check. . . . No, Simon, it won't be certified and he'll take it as it
is."

He rang off and searched impatiently for pawn tickets. Simon's
messenger arrived and, strained and hostile, Kenny looked over the
contents of the bundle and wrote a check.

Alone in the studio again, he flung up a window, his mind pushing ahead
to eleven o'clock. It seemed to him then that he could not possibly
wait and go on fighting for his self-control. A gust of sleet and hail
swept in with a pattering sound upon the floor. Its cold, stinging
contact with his face refreshed him. Kenny's brain cleared. He gulped
and gasped. Garry's car! He would not wait.

"Frank," he telephoned after an unavailing interval of search for
Garry, "if you're willing we'll motor to Finlake in Garry's car. He'll
not be mindin'. I borrow it often. It's a bad night of course--but we
could start now. And we can make time on the road. It's barely two
hundred and fifty miles but the branch roads and changes make
unendurable delay. Shall I come for you in half an hour?"

Again Barrington gasped. Again he whistled. "Make it three quarters,"
he said, "and I think I can swing it."

"You're a jewel for sense," Kenny told him, a passionate note of
gratitude in his voice. "I love you for it."

He called Ann's studio at six. Joan had not returned. Ann took the
message, startled and sympathetic.

"I'll wire her in the morning," he said and, hanging up, found that
Sidney Fahr had come in. He stood with his back against the door, his
round face blank with terror.

"Kenny," he stammered, "I--I couldn't help hearing." The hot sympathy
he could not bring himself to utter, flamed desperately in his
face--almost to the ruin of Kenny's iron control. "I--I--I can do
something, can't I, Kenny?"

"Yes, Sid, darlin', you can," said Kenny gently. "I'm taking Garry's
car. You can square me with him."

"I--I'd even thrash him," mumbled Sid.

"Then if you will I'd like you to get in touch with Westcott's wife and
tell her. I'm painting her portrait. She comes to-morrow at ten.
Sid, could you--could you clean off those two chairs?"

Sid fell upon the nearest chair with fearful energy. At the table
Kenny hurriedly wrote a check.

"And to-morrow I want you to deposit this to Brian's account. I'm
paying back--what I owe him." His mouth worked.

"Oh, Sid!" he said, his face scarlet.

"Now, now, now, Kenny," choked the little painter,