aid Monty. "It's what I've been wanting all
along. You chaps do the handshaking and I stay at home."

There was an immediate council of war when this piece of news was
announced, and the "Little Sons" were unanimous in favor of recalling
the invitations and declaring the party off. At first Monty was
obdurate, but when some one suggested that he could give the ball later
on, after he was well, he relented. The opportunity to double the cost
by giving two parties was not to be ignored.

"Call it off, then, but say it is only postponed."

A great rushing to and fro resulted in the cancelling of contracts, the
recalling of invitations, the settling of accounts, with the most loyal
effort to save as much as possible from the wreckage. Harrison and his
associates, almost frantic with fear for Brewster's life, managed to
perform wonders in the few hours of grace. Gardner, with rare
foresight, saw that the Viennese orchestra would prove a dead loss. He
suggested the possibility of a concert tour through the country,
covering several weeks, and Monty, too ill to care one way or the
other, authorized him to carry out the plan if it seemed feasible.

To Monty, fearless and less disturbed than any other member of his
circle, appendicitis seemed as inevitable as vaccination.

"The appendix is becoming an important feature in the Book of Life," he
once told Peggy Gray.

He refused to go to a hospital, but pathetically begged to be taken to
his old rooms at Mrs. Gray's.

With all the unhappy loneliness of a sick boy, he craved the care and
companionship of those who seemed a part of his own. Dr. Lotless had
them transform a small bedchamber into a model operating room and Monty
took no small satisfaction in the thought that if he was to be denied
the privilege of spending money for several weeks, he would at least
make his illness as expensive as possible. A consultation of eminent
surgeons was called, but true to his colors, Brewster installed Dr.
Lotless, a "Little Son," as his house surgeon. Monty grimly bore the
pain and suffering and submitted to the operation which alone could
save his life. Then came the struggle, then the promise of victory and
then the quiet days of convalescence. In the little room where he had
dreamed his boyish dreams and suffered his boyish sorrows, he struggled
against death and gradually emerged from the mists of lassitude. He
found it harder than he had thought to come back to life. The burden