tions beyond the two I stated."

"You will send me that address?"

"In the letter with the check."

"Will she see me, do you think?"

"I haven't an idea," replied Tetlow.

"What's the mystery?" asked Norman. "Why do you speak of her so
indifferently?"

"It's the way I feel." Then, in answer to the unspoken suspicion once
more appearing in Norman's eyes, he added: "She's a very nice, sweet
girl, Norman--so far as I know or believe. Beyond that--Go to see
her."

It had been many a week since Norman had heard a friendly voice. The
very sound of the human voice had become hateful to him, because he was
constantly detecting the note of nervousness, the scarcely concealed
fear of being entangled in his misfortunes. As Tetlow rose to go, Norman
tried to detain him. The sound of an unconstrained voice, the sight of a
believing face that did not express one or more of the shadings of
contempt between pity and aversion--the sight and sound of this friend
Tetlow was acting upon him like one of those secret, unexpected,
powerful tonics which nature at times suddenly injects into a dying man
to confound the doctors and cheat death.

"Tetlow," said he, "I'm down--probably down for good. But if I ever get
up again, I'll not make one mistake--the one that cost me this fall. Do
you know what that mistake was?"

"I suppose you mean Miss Hallowell?"

"No," said Norman, to his surprise. "I mean my lack of money, of
capital, of a large and secure income. I used to imagine that brains
were the best, the only sure asset. I was guilty of the stupidity of
overvaluing my own possessions."

"Brains are a mighty good asset, Fred."

"Yes--and necessary. But a man of action must have under his brains
another asset--_must_ have it, Billy. The one secure asset is a big
capital. Money rules this world. Some men have been lucky enough to rise
and stay risen, without money. But not a man of all the men who have
been knocked out could have been dislodged if he had been armed and
armored with money. My prodigality was my fatal mistake. I shan't make
it again--if I get the chance. You don't know, Tetlow, how hard it is to
get money when you are tumbling and must have it. I never dreamed what a
factor it is in calamities of _every_ sort. It's _the_ factor."

"I don't like to hear you talk that way, Norman," said Tetlow earnestly.
"I've always most admired in you the fact that you weren't mercenary."

"And I never shall be," said Norman, wit