cking her skates together.
"It's a bother at times, however, to know what to do with the money. I
buy so many things I do not need just because I feel compelled to spend
my allowance."

"It must be very inconvenient," I observed.

"And now that you are a man of leisure," said Phyllis, "you will write
that book you have always been telling me about?"

"Do you wish it?" I asked.

"I do. What I have always found lacking in you is application. You
start out to accomplish something, you find an obstacle in your path
and you do not surmount it; you do not persevere."

My pulse beat quickly. Was there a double meaning to what she said? I
could not tell, for her eyes remained averted.

I sighed. "It would be nice to become a successful author, but when a
man is as rich as I am fame tarnishes." I took out an envelope from my
pocket.

"What is that?" asked Phyllis.

I turned over the back and showed it to her.

"Figures!" she laughed. "What do they mean?"

"It is what I am going to do with my fortune," said I. I was holding
out my vanity at arm's length and laughing at it silently.

"Your air castles will be realized now," said Phyllis.

"I shall build no more," said I. "The last one gave me a very bad
fall."

Phyllis looked away again. A vague perfume from her hair wafted past
my nostrils, and for a space I was overwhelmed with sadness. Soon I
discerned Mr. Holland speeding toward us.

"I shall not see you again," I said, "so I'll bid you good-bye now. If
you should chance to come abroad this summer, do not fail to look me
up."

"Good luck to you," said Ethel, shaking my hand. "You must bring home
a Princess or a Duchess." Then she moved off a way, thoughtfully.

"You must write to me occasionally, Jack," said Phyllis, "if only once
a month. I shall always be interested in your career."

The smile faltered as she put out her gloved hand.

"You will make some man happy, Phyllis," I said.

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

And then--and then they sped away, and I followed them with dimming
gaze till I could see them no more. I trudged home. . . .

I stood on the upper deck. The spires and domes of the city faded on
my sight till all merged into a gray smoky patch on the horizon. With
a dead cigar clenched between my teeth I watched and watched with a
callous air, as though there had been no wrench, as though I had not
left behind all I loved in the world. And yet I gazed, the keen salt
air