, and I knew
your grandfather rather well. He was a good old chap, Monty, and he
would hate to see you make ducks and drakes of his fortune."

There was something in the Colonel's manner that softened Brewster,
much as he hated to take a reproof from Barbara's father. Once again he
was tempted to tell the truth, but he pulled himself up in time. "It's
a funny old world, Colonel," he said; "and sometimes one's nearest
friend is a stranger. I know I seem a fool; but, after all, why isn't
it good philosophy to make the most of a holiday and then settle back
to work?"

"That is all very well, Monty," and Colonel Drew was entirely serious;
"but the work is a hundred times harder after you have played to the
limit You'll find that you are way beyond it. It's no joke getting back
into the harness."

"Perhaps you are right, Colonel, but at least I shall have something to
look back upon--even if the worst comes." And Monty instinctively
straightened his shoulders.

They turned to leave the building, and the Colonel had a moment of
weakness.

"Do you know, Monty," he said, "my daughter is awfully cut up about
this business. She is plucky and tries not to show it, but after all a
girl doesn't get over that sort of thing all in a moment. I am not
saying"--it seemed necessary to recede a step "that it would be an easy
matter to patch up. But I like you, Monty, and if any man could do it,
you can."

"Colonel, I wish I might," and Brewster found that he did not hesitate.
"For your sake I very much wish the situation were as simple as it
seems. But there are some things a man can't forget, and--well--Barbara
has shown in a dozen ways that she has no faith in me."

"Well, I've got faith in you, and a lot of it. Take care of yourself,
and when you get back you can count on me. Good-bye."

On Thursday morning the "Flitter" steamed off down the bay, and the
flight of the prodigal grand-son was on. No swifter, cleaner, handsomer
boat ever sailed out of the harbor of New York, and it was a merry
crowd that she carried out to sea. Brewster's guests numbered
twenty-five, and they brought with them a liberal supply of maids,
valets, and luggage. It was not until many weeks later that he read the
vivid descriptions of the weighing of the anchor which were printed in
the New York papers, but by that time he was impervious to their
ridicule.

On deck, watching the rugged silhouette of the city disappear into the
mists, were Dan DeMill