r a year."

"It will be for only a few days. If you don't wish your presence in the
city known, I'll put you up in my house. Parts of it are as secret as
the grave."

"All right. But supposing the revolution falls through before it ever
gets started?"

"I'll make you a bet," said Blizzard, smiling. "Please reach me that
black check-book." He wrote a check, blotted it, and showed it to
Wilmot. "This," he said, "against a penny! It will pay your debts. It's
payable at the City Bank on January 16th. Put it in your pocket."

"When do I start for Utah?"

"Wednesday afternoon."

"I hoped to come to your concert that night."

Blizzard shook his head. "You will hear better music," he said, "in the
West--rifles on the ranges. And by the way, don't lose that hat I gave
you. It must be where you can get it on the 15th of January."

To Wilmot a straw hat suggested the palm-groves of a South American
republic rather than the streets of New York in midwinter, and he said
so; but the legless man only smiled.

XXIII

During those last days Barbara and Wilmot were together a great deal
Tuesday morning, by invitation, he watched her at work upon her bust of
Blizzard; afterward he took her to lunch and for a long drive through
Westchester County. That night they dined with Mr. Ferris, who,
immediately after dinner, excused himself, and withdrew to his
laboratory. Wednesday morning Barbara did no work, but drove about in a
taxicab with Wilmot and helped him shop. They lunched together, and she
went to the Grand Central to see him off. Where Wilmot found the time to
pack the things which they had bought in the morning was always
something of a mystery to them both.

As train-time approached the hearts of both these young people began to
beat very fast. Each felt that the good-bys presently to be said might
be forever. In his resolution not even to write to Barbara, Wilmot was
weakening pitiably. He wished that he had taken her at her word and
married her Monday when she was in the mood. Better Barbara unloving, he
thought, than this terrible emptiness and aching. His heart was proving
stronger than his mind. Short, more or less conventional phrases were
torn from him. Barbara, her heart beating faster and faster, said
very little.

The attention of her wonderful eyes was divided between the crowds and
the station clock. She could see the minute-hand move. Once in a while
she snatched, as it were, a look at Wilmot. Hi