es's turn to construct a frown and take on an air
of intense seriousness, while his friend smiled at him, thinking it
was one of his humorous moods.

"Can't say I have anything definite on foot," said Barnes slowly, "but
the pater has given me a rather important commission to fulfil, though
not exactly in mustard."

"Well, then," said Travers Gladwin with a trace of annoyance, "I'd
better call on somebody else. I"--

"Nothing of the sort," broke in Whitney Barnes. "It may fit right in
with my plans. It'll keep me circulating round a lot and that's just
what I want--that and what Bateato is bringing," as the little brown
man entered the room on the run, bearing a silver tray, decanter and
glasses.

CHAPTER IX.

THE CURSE OF MILLIONS.

As Travers Gladwin's valet filled the tall, slim glasses with the
fizzing amber-colored fluid which constitutes the great American
highball, the two friends stretched their legs and lost themselves for
a few moments in aimless reverie. Bateato looked from one to the
other, puzzled by their seriousness. He clinked the glasses to rouse
them and glided from the room. Whitney Barnes was the first to look up
and shake himself free of the sober spell that gripped him.

"What the deuce made you skip abroad in such a hurry, Travers?" he
asked, reaching for his glass.

Travers Gladwin sat up with a start, pulled a lugubrious smile and
replied:

"Bored to death--nothing interested me--living the most commonplace,
humdrum, unromantic existence imaginable. Teas and dances, dances and
teas, clubs and theatres, theatres and clubs, motors and yachts,
yachts and motors. It was horrible, and I can't help thinking it was
all my dear old governor's fault. He had no consideration for me."

"He left you a tidy lot of millions," drawled Whitney Barnes.

Young Gladwin drained his glass, jumped to his feet and began to pace
the room, hands deep in his trousers pockets.

"That was just it!" he flung out. "If he'd left me nothing but a
shilling or two there'd be some joy in living. I'd have had to buckle
down. There's variety, interest, pleasure in having to make your own
way in the world."

Whitney Barnes laughed mockingly.

"Go out and tell that to the toiling masses," he chuckled, "and listen
to them give you the ha-ha. You're in a bad way, old chap--better see
a brain specialist."

"I know I'm in a bad way," Gladwin ran on fiercely, "but doctors can't
do me any good. It was all right