of Miss Barbara Drew may have had
something to do with the feeling between the two men.

As he left the directors' room, on the afternoon of the meeting,
Colonel Drew came up to Monty, who had notified the officers of the
bank that he was leaving.

"Ah, my dear boy," said the Colonel, shaking the young man's hand
warmly, "now you have a chance to show what you can do. You have a
fortune and, with judgment, you ought to be able to triple it. If I can
help you in any way, come and see me."

Monty thanked him.

"You'll be bored to death by the raft of people who have ways to spend
your money," continued the Colonel. "Don't listen to any of them. Take
your time. You'll have a new chance to make money every day of your
life, so go slowly. I'd have been rich years and years ago if I'd had
sense enough to run away from promoters. They'll all try to get a whack
at your money. Keep your eye open, Monty. The rich young man is always
a tempting morsel." After a moment's reflection, he added, "Won't you
come out and dine with us to-morrow night?"

CHAPTER III

MRS. AND MISS GRAY

Mrs. Gray lived in Fortieth Street. For years Montgomery Brewster had
regarded her quiet, old-fashioned home as his own. The house had once
been her grandfather's, and it was one of the pioneers in that part of
the town. It was there she was born; in its quaint old parlor she was
married; and all her girlhood, her brief wedded life, and her widowhood
were connected with it. Mrs. Gray and Montgomery's mother had been
schoolmates and playmates, and their friendship endured. When old Edwin
Peter Brewster looked about for a place to house his orphaned grandson,
Mrs. Gray begged him to let her care for the little fellow. He was
three years older than her Margaret, and the children grew up as
brother and sister. Mr. Brewster was generous in providing for the boy.
While he was away at college, spending money in a manner that caused
the old gentleman to marvel at his own liberality, Mrs. Gray was well
paid for the unused but well-kept apartments, and there never was a
murmur of complaint from Edwin Peter Brewster. He was hard, but he was
not niggardly.

It had been something of a struggle for Mrs. Gray to make both ends
meet. The property in Fortieth Street was her only possession. But
little money had come to her at her husband's death, and an unfortunate
speculation of his had swept away all that had fallen to her from her
father, the late Ju