turned you out for
good. Now I am through with you. Get that? I mean it! And if I have
seven dollars I guess I'll need it myself before I get out of this
pickle you've got me into!"

Conniston stared at him incredulously. "Come, now, Roger. You don't
mean--"

"But I do, Mr. William Conniston, fraud! I'm through with you."

Conniston got to his feet, his own face as white as Hapgood's.

"You mean what you are saying?"

"I most certainly and positively do!"

"And the wire I sent to dad--"

"You can pay for it if you want to! You don't get a cent out of me."

Conniston took one stride to him, putting a heavy hand upon Hapgood's
narrow shoulder.

"You infernal little shrimp!" he cried, hoarsely. "If we weren't
guests here I'd take a holy glee in slapping your face! By the Lord,
I've a mind to do it anyhow!"

Hapgood jerked back, his arm lifted to shelter his face. And
Conniston, with a short laugh, dropped his hand to his side. As he did
so he saw Miss Crawford was coming toward them through the yard from
the corner of the house. A middle-aged man, heavy and broad-shouldered
and white-haired, was with her. He turned to meet her.

"Mr. Conniston," she was saying, "this is my father. And, papa, this
is Mr. Hapgood."

Mr. Crawford came up the steps, giving his hand in a hearty grip to
the two men who came forward to meet him, his voice, deep and grave,
assuring them that he was glad that they had stayed over at his home.
His face was stern, grave like his voice, clean-shaven, and handsome
in a way of manly, independent strength.

"Argyl tells me," he said, to Conniston, as they all sat down, "that
you are expecting some money by wire. You are leaving us, then, right
away?"

"I did expect some money," Conniston laughed, his good humor with him
again. "I wired to my father for it. And I just had his answer. There
is nothing doing."

Mr. Crawford lifted his eyebrows. Argyl leaned forward.

"He said," went on Conniston, lightly, "that he would not send me a
dollar. You see, he wants me to do something for myself. And," with a
rueful grin, "I am in debt to you for a dollar to pay for my
message--and I haven't ten cents!"

Mr. Crawford laughed with him. "We won't worry about the dollar just
now, Mr. Conniston. What are you going to do?"

Conniston scratched his head. "I don't know. I--" And then Argyl's
words came back to him, and he surprised himself by saying: "Most men
go to work when they're strapped, do