ks; and he would be confessing that he had failed in his
mission,--nay, worse than that, that he had not even tried to accomplish
it. It would, of course, be impossible to explain how, when the crisis
had come, something within him had leaped into being,--something that
had automatically prevented him from doing what was wrong and forced him
to do what was right. He took small credit to himself for his deed. It
was his good genius that deserved the praise. He wondered idly as he
went along whether this potent force had been his conscience or his
soul. Well, it did not matter much; the result was the same. Conscience,
soul, whatever it was, it was sending him back to Carter with that
unspent bribe money.

He was glad of it. Had he but done this weeks before, he would have been
spared days and weeks of uncertainty and worry. He realized now that he
had never felt right, felt happy about that bill. Yet although his
bonds were now to be broken, and he was to be free at last, the
shattering of his fetters was not to be a pleasant process. He knew Mr.
Carter too well to deceive himself into imagining that the affair would
pass off lightly. Mr. Carter was a proud man. He would not like having
his gift hurled back into his face. Nor would he enjoy being beaten.
Greater than any value he would set on the ownership of the _March Hare_
would loom the consciousness that he had been defeated, balked by a lot
of schoolboys, by one boy in particular. The incident would ruffle his
vanity and annoy him mightily.

It was with this knowledge that Paul stepped into the elevator. How he
wished there was some escape from the approaching interview! If only Mr.
Carter should prove to be busy, or be out!

But Mr. Carter was not busy, and he was not out! On the contrary, the
clerk told Paul that the great man was expecting him and had given
orders that he was to come into the office as soon as he arrived.

Gulping down a nervous tremor, the lad steadied himself and put his hand
on the knob of the awful ground-glass door. Once on the other side of it
and all retreat would be cut off. Not that he really wished to retreat.
It was only that he dreaded.... The knob turned and he was inside the
room.

Mr. Carter was at his desk dictating a letter; he finished the last
sentence and motioned his stenographer to withdraw. He then asked Paul
to sit down in the chair the girl had vacated.

"Well, you've got some news for me," he began without preambl