it seemed. Some had been on his lists for years.
They married and wanted to hear what was said in the papers about their
weddings, they quarreled and got divorces and still sent here for
clippings, they died and still their relatives wrote in for the funeral
notices. And even death was commercialized. A maker of monuments wanted
news "of all people of large means, dead or dangerously ill, in the State
of Pennsylvania." Here were demands from charity bodies, hospitals and
colleges, from clergymen with an anxious eye on the Monday morning papers.
And here was an anarchist millionaire! And here was an insane asylum
wanting to see itself in print!

With a grim smile on his heavy visage, Roger stared out of his window.
Slowly the smile faded, a wistful look came on his face.

"Who'll take my business when I'm gone?"

If his small son had only lived, with what new zest and vigor it might have
been made to grow and expand. If only his son had been here by his side....

CHAPTER IX

DEBORAH needed rest, he thought, for the bright attractive face of his
daughter was looking rather pale of late, and the birthmark on her forehead
showed a faint thin line of red. One night at dinner, watching her, he
wondered what was on her mind. She had come in late, and though several
times she had made an effort to keep up the conversation, her cheeks were
almost colorless and more than once in her deepset eyes came a flash of
pain that startled him.

"Look here. What's the matter with you?" he asked. Deborah looked up
quickly.

"I'd rather not talk about it, dad--"

"Very well," he answered. And with a slight hesitation, "But I think I know
the trouble," he said. "And perhaps some other time--when you do feel like
talking--" He stopped, for on her wide sensitive lips he saw a twitch of
amusement.

"What do you think is the trouble?" she asked. And Roger looked at her
squarely.

"Loneliness," he answered.

"Why?" she asked him.

"Well, there's Edith's baby--and Laura getting married--"

"I see--and so I'm lonely for a family of my own. But you're forgetting my
school," she said.

"Yes, yes, I know," he retorted. "But that's not at all the same.
Interesting work, no doubt, but--well, it isn't personal."

"Oh, isn't it?" she answered, and she drew a quivering breath. Rising from
the table she went into the living room, and there a few moments later he
found her walking up and down. "I think I will tell you now," she sai