reply.

"So you really expect that your friend, Mr. Keen, is going to marry me
to somebody, _nolens volens_?" asked Kerns.

"I do. That's what I dream of, Tommy."

"My poor friend, dream on!"

"I am. Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!"

"You think so?"

"I _know_ it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over a
cigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roam
off anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure!
That's what you _think_! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sort
of man _I_ see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling in
such content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar,
wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into the
city behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sits
outside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what he
does, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night!
Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!"

"Very fine," said Kerns admiringly. "Too bad it's due to the Burgundy."

"Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the fact
remains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner. Kerns, old
fellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I--I wish sincerely that we knew who
she is and where to send those roses. Anyway, here's to the bride!"

He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself,
tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke.

"You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then he
swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock.

"Eleven," he said with regret. "I've about time to go to Eighty-third
Street, get my suit case, and catch my train at 125th Street." To a
servant he said, "Call a hansom," then rose and sauntered downstairs to
the cloakroom, where presently both men stood, hatted and gloved,
swinging their sticks.

"That was a fool bet you made," began Kerns; "I'll release you, Jack."

"Sorry, but I must insist on holding you," replied Gatewood, laughing.
"You're going to your doom. Come on! I'll see you as far as the cab
door."

They walked out, and Kerns gave the cabby the street and number and
entered the hansom.

"Now," said Gatewood, "you're in for it! You're done for! You can't help
yourself! I've won my twelve-gauge trap gun already, and I'll have to
set you up in table silver, anyway, so