beginning to know what it meant to be "on his
uppers." At the banks he ascertained that the interest on his moneys
amounted to $19,140.86. A week before the 23d of September, the whole
million was gone, including the amounts won in Lumber and Fuel and
other luckless enterprises. He still had about $17,000 of his interest
money in the banks, but he had a billion pangs in his heart--the
interest on his improvidence.

He found some delight in the discovery that the servants had robbed him
of not less than $3,500 worth of his belongings, including the
Christmas presents that he in honor could not have sold. His only
encouragement came from Grant & Ripley, the lawyers. They inspired
confidence in his lagging brain by urging him on to the end, promising
brightness thereafter. Swearengen Jones was as mute as the mountains in
which he lived. There was no word from him, there was no assurance that
he would approve of what had been done to obliterate Edwin Peter
Brewster's legacy.

Dan DeMille and his wife implored Monty to come with them to the
mountains before his substance was gone completely. The former offered
him money, employment, rest and security if he would abandon the course
he was pursuing. Up in Fortieth Street Peggy Gray was grieving her
heart out and he knew it. Two or three of those whom he had considered
friends refused to recognize him in the street in this last trying
week, and it did not even interest him to learn that Miss Barbara Drew
was to become a duchess before the winter was gone. Yet he found some
satisfaction in the report that one Hampton of Chicago had long since
been dropped out of the race.

One day he implored the faithful Bragdon to steal the Boston terriers.
He could not and would not sell them and he dared not give them away.
Bragdon dejectedly appropriated the dogs and Brewster announced that
some day he would offer a reward for their return and "no questions
asked."

He took a suite of rooms in a small hotel and was feverishly planning
the overthrow of the last torturing thousands. Bragdon lived with him
and the "Little Sons of the Rich" stood loyally ready to help him when
he uttered the first cry of want. But even this establishment had to be
abandoned at last. The old rooms in Fortieth Street were still open to
him and though he quailed at the thought of making them a refuge, he
faced the ordeal in the spirit of a martyr.

CHAPTER XXX

THE PROMISE OF THRIFT

"Monty, you