e than a lump of clay in my
grave, I want to be able to roll over and say"--a flame seemed to shoot
from his eyes--"'You sons o' guns, you can't get in, because what you've
come to take was built right, and 'twas me built it, by God!'"

Necker studied him. "Well, if that isn't throwing a halo around your
work, I don't know what is. I've met that before, too. But you've got
more than that--what is it?"

"If I have, I don't know it." He paused.

"I know," whispered Marie in Balfe's ear--her eyes turned to the ensign
on the table.

"But if there's anything else there, it must've been born in me, and so
that's no credit. But if there is anything else there, I want my boy to
have it, too."

Necker picked up his hat and cane. "He'll have it, never fear, Welkie,
and the more surely because he won't know it either. I'm off. Do you
mind if I take another of Cabada's cigars?"

"Surely. Help yourself. Fill your case."

"Thanks." He lit up. "These _are_ a smoke. I wish he'd let me have some,
but he's like you something--he's only to be got at from the inside,
and I guess I'm not on the inside. Good-by, Welkie. I hope you get your
reward some day, though I doubt it. Good-by, Mr. Balfe. You're the first
of your kind I ever met. You fooled me, but I'll be ready for you next
time. Good-by, Miss Welkie. I forgot to say"--he smiled slyly--"there
was a sixty-horse-power French car and a fifty-foot motor-launch went
with that house. Good-by."

The pebbly beach crunched under Necker's receding feet. "Dear me,"
sighed Marie, "don't you feel half sorry for him, Andie?"

"Just about half. I'll bet he plays a good game of poker. But, Greg--"
Balfe drew a square white envelope from an inner coat-pocket--"I was
given a letter the other day to give you--in case you were still on the
job here."

"On the job? Where else could I be?" He had taken the envelope and was
about to rip it carelessly open, when his eye caught the embossed blue
lettering on the corner:

WHITE HOUSE

He held it up in bewilderment. "Not from the President, Andie?"

"Why not? Read it."

Slowly Welkie read it. He took it over to the light at the little table
and read it again. He dropped it on the table and gazed through the
screen at the lights of the fleet. After a time he said in a low tone:
"I must tell Sonnie-Boy," and, turning, went inside the house.

"Is it very private, Andie?" whispered Marie.

"No, no."

"Then I'm going to read it."

She read i