voice.--"Who is it?--Oh! it's you, Macloud. Make
yourself at home--I'll be out in a moment."

There was the noise of splashing water, accompanied by sundry
exclamations and snorts, followed by a period of silence; and, then,
from the bath room, emerged Croyden clad in robe, slippers and a
smile.

"Help yourself," he said, pointing to the smoking materials. He filled
a pipe, lit it carefully, blew a few whiffs to the ceiling and watched
them slowly dissipate.

"Well, it's come," he remarked: "Royster & Axtell have smashed clean."

"Not clean," said Macloud. "It is going to be the most criminal failure
this town has ever known."

"I mean they have busted wide open--and I'm one of the suckers."

"You are going to have plenty of company, among your friends," Macloud
answered.

"I suppose so--but I hope none of them is hit quite so bad." He blew
another cloud of smoke and watched it fade. "The truth is, Colin, I'm
done for."

"What!" exclaimed Macloud. "You don't mean you are cleaned out?"

The other nodded. "That's about it.... I've a few thousand left--enough
to pay laundry bills, and to board on Hash Alley for a few months a
year. Oh! I was a sucker, all right!--I was so easy it makes me ashamed
to have saved _anything_ from the wreck. I've a notion to go and offer
it to them, now."

There were both bitterness and relief in his tones; bitterness over
the loss, relief that the worst, at last, had happened.

For a while, there was silence. Croyden turned away and began to dress;
Macloud sat looking out on the lawn in front, where a foursome were
playing the home hole, and another waiting until they got off the
green.

Presently, the latter spoke.

"How did it happen, old man?" he asked--"that is, if you care to
tell."

Croyden laughed shortly. "It isn't pleasant to relate how one has been
such an addle-pated ass----"

"Then, forgive me.--I didn't mean to----"

"Nonsense! I understand--moreover, it will ease my mortification to
confide in one who won't attempt to sympathize. I don't care for
sympathy, I don't deserve it, and what's more, I won't have it."

"Don't let that worry you," Macloud answered. "You won't be oppressed
by any rush of sympathy. No one is who gets pinched in the stock
market. We all go in, and--sooner or later, generally sooner--we all
get burnt--and we all think every one but ourselves got only what was
due him. No, my boy, there is no sympathy running loose for the lamb
who has