ithout consulting his attorney he telegraphed to
Nellie:--"Am in trouble. Uncle Peter is dead. Left me everything. Will
you come back? Harvey."

The next day he had a wire from Nellie, charges collect:--"If he left
you everything, why don't you pay for telegrams when you send them?
Nellie."

He replied:--"I was not sure you were with the company, that's why.
Shall I come to Philadelphia? Harvey."

Her answer:--"Not unless you are looking for more trouble. Nellie."

His next:--"There's a woman here who wants me to marry her. Won't you
help me? Harvey."

Her last:--"There's a man here who is going to marry me. Why don't you
marry her? Naughty! Naughty! Nellie."

He gave up in despair at this. On Sunday he allowed Mrs. Davis to
bullyrag him into a tentative engagement. Then he began to droop. He
had done a bit of investigating on his own account before going up to
dine with her. She had been married to Davis forty-two years and then
he died. If their only daughter had lived she would be forty-one years
of age, and, if married, would doubtless be the mother of a daughter
who might also in turn be the mother of a child. Figuring back, he
made out that under these circumstances Mrs. Davis might very easily
have been a great-grandmother. With this appalling thought in mind,
he was quite firm in his determination to reject the old lady's
proposal. Mrs. Davis taking Nellie's place! Pretty, gay, vivacious
Nellie! It was too absurd for words.

But he went home an engaged man, just the same.

They were to be married in September of the following year, many
months off.

That afternoon he saw a few gray hairs just above his ears and pulled
them out. After that he looked for them every day. It was amazing how
rapidly they increased despite his efforts to exterminate them. He
began to grow careless in the matter of dress. His much talked of
checked suits and lavender waistcoats took on spots and creases; his
gaudy neckties became soiled and frayed; his fancy Newmarket overcoat,
the like of which was only to be seen in Blakeville when some
travelling theatrical troupe came to town, looked seedy, unbrushed,
and sadly wrinkled. He forgot to shave for days at a time.

His only excuse to himself was, What's the use?

During the holidays, in the midst of a cheerful season of buying
presents for Phoebe--and a bracelet for Nellie--he saw in the
_Patriot_, under big headlines, the thing that served as the last
straw for his alrea