his far Jack would sometimes say to himself in a spirit of
defiant recklessness that there were plenty of other women for whom
ultimately he could care as much. But he knew also that he would not say
that, nor even think it, whenever Betty Gower was within reach of his
hand or sound of his voice.

He walked sometimes over to Point Old and stared at the cottage, snowy
white against the tender green, its lawn growing rank with uncut grass,
its chimney dead. There were times when he wished he could see smoke
lifting from that chimney and know that he could find Betty somewhere
along the beach. But these were only times when his spirits were very
low.

Also he occasionally wondered if it were true, as Stubby Abbott
declared, that Gower had fallen into a financial hole. MacRae doubted
that. Men like Gower always got out of a hole. They were fierce and
remorseless pursuers of the main chance. When they were cast down they
climbed up straightway over the backs of lesser men. He thought of
Robbin-Steele. A man like that would die with the harness of the
money-game on his back, reaching for more. Gower was of the same type,
skillful in all the tricks of the game, ruthless, greedy for power and
schooled to grasp it in a bewildering variety of ways.

No, he rather doubted that Gower was broke, or even in any danger of
going broke. He hoped this might be true, in spite of his doubts, for it
meant that Gower would be compelled to sacrifice this six hundred acres
of MacRae land. The sooner the better. It was a pain to MacRae to see it
going wild. The soil Donald MacRae had cleared and turned to meadow, to
small fields of grain, was growing up to ferns and scrub. It had been a
source of pride to old Donald. He had visualized for his son more than
once great fields covered with growing crops, a rich and fruitful area,
with a big stone house looking out over the cliffs where ultimate
generations of MacRaes should live. If luck had not gone against old
Donald he would have made this dream come true. But life and Gower had
beaten him.

Jack MacRae knew this. It maddened him to think that this foundation of
a dream had become the plaything of his father's enemy, a neglected
background for a summer cottage which he only used now and then.

There might, however, be something in the statements Stubby had made.
MacRae recalled that Gower had not replaced the _Arrow_. The
underwriters had raised and repaired the mahogany cruiser, and she h