on
to invent and use any new labels or trade-marks he saw fit.

The girl at the seashore, however, was also busy--amusing her father
that he might not give too much time to thinking. And then, when three
of the six weeks had passed, came the accident to the motor car.

She was told that with rest and no worries, her father would recover in
a week or two. She cheerfully fitted into the role of assistant to the
nurse in charge, and, as soon as the doctor allowed, prepared to read
his mail to him as he lay, eyes and head bandaged. But as she opened and
glanced over the accumulated letters, she suddenly went pale. She read
one in particular from end to end, and then, with a scared, furtive look
at the bandaged figure, slipped it into a pocket.

Later, when her father had finished dictating to her, she answered the
concealed letter herself.

Again the days drifted. The bandages were removed; but still the girl
continued to scan the mail. Her vigilance was rewarded. She flushed over
a second letter which, with one in a worn envelope, she took to her
father.

He saw the careworn expression. "My little girl has been overworking,"
he said.

She held out the worn letter. "I've had this for some time--but--but I
waited for something more, and here it is." She showed the other.

He took the first, and when he had finished, his hand was trembling.

"I regret to report that things are in a chaos," it ran. "All of the
regular advertising has been withdrawn. The usual entertainment money
for salesmen classed under this head has been stopped. In consequence,
our city trade has tumbled fearfully--and you know how bad it was
before. The worst news I have to offer is in regard to Mr. Brainard
personally. Our detective reports that his time outside is spent in most
questionable company. He has been seen drinking at roof-gardens with a
certain dissipated pugilist named Little Sullivan, and was traced with
this man to the apartment of a song-and-dance woman named Violette. He
seems to be spending money extravagantly and visits certain bohemian
quarters in the vicinity of Jones Street, where he puts in his time with
disreputable-looking men. I beg leave to advise immediate
action.--Mowbray."

"My God!" groaned Houghton. This explained that derisive offer of
fifty-one from Consolidated Pepsin.

"And you kept this from me?"

"They said not to worry you," she said. "I--I've had enough for two.
Besides, I answered it."

"You did! W