ell, and Blix gave a little gasp of dismay. They looked
at each other. Here was a check, indeed.

"Well," said the sublime being in shirt sleeves from behind the
counter, "see what you can do; and if you can't make it, come back here
an' lemmeno, and we'll fix you up in some other place. But Lake San
Andreas has been bang-up this last week--been some great kills there;
hope to the deuce you can make it."

Everything now hinged upon this permit. It was not until their
expedition had been in doubt that Condy and Blix realized how alluring
had been its prospects.

"Oh, I guess you can get a permit," said the clerk soothingly. "An' if
you make any good kills, lemmeno and I'll put it in the paper. I'm the
editor of the 'Sport-with-Gun-and-Rod' column in 'The Press,'" he added
with a flush of pride.

Toward the middle of the afternoon Blix, who was waiting at home, in
great suspense, for that very purpose, received another telegram from
Condy:

"Tension of situation relieved. Unconditional permission obtained.
Don't forget the shrimps."

It had been understood that Condy was to come to the flat on Sunday
afternoon to talk over final arrangements with Blix. But as it was,
Saturday evening saw him again at the Bessemers.

He had been down at his club in the library, writing the last
paragraphs of his diver's story, when, just as he finished, Sargeant
discovered him.

"Why, Conny, old man, all alone here? Let's go downstairs and have a
cigar. Hendricks and George Hands are coming around in half an hour.
They told me not to let you get away."

Condy stirred nervously in his chair. He knew what that meant. He had
enough money in his pockets to play that night, and in an instant the
enemy was all awake. The rowel was in his flank again, and the scourge
at his back. Sargeant stood there, the well-groomed clubman of thirty;
a little cynical perhaps, but a really good fellow for all that, and
undeniably fond of Condy. But somewhere with the eyes of some second
self Condy saw the girl of nineteen, part child and part woman; saw her
goodness, her fine, sweet feminine strength as it were a dim radiance;
"What's a good man worth, Condy," she had said, "if he's not a strong
man?"

"I suppose we'll have a game going before midnight," admitted Sargeant
resignedly, smiling good-humoredly nevertheless.

Condy set his teeth. "I'll join you later. Wait a few moments," he
said. He hurried to the office of the c