March, he passed Rupert going out and realized himself
encroaching on the tacitly established period of retirement. Sobered,
half-doubtful of his course, he ran up the stairs, and in the upper hall
came suddenly upon Gerard leaning against the wall.

"Gerard!" Corrie exclaimed; goggles and gloves fell to the floor as he
sprang to his friend. "Gerard, you're ill? Let me help you--lean on me!
I'm strong enough to _carry_ you."

"It is nothing," Gerard panted. "I tried to come after Rupert in too
much of a hurry, that's all. I remembered something I had forgotten to
tell him. What are you doing here? I sent you out."

Once Corrie would have flashed hot retort to a reproof certainly
undeserved, not now.

"I am sorry; I didn't understand," he apologized. "You never said I
_must_ stay out. Let me help you, get you something."

"I know; I'm unreasonable!" Gerard straightened himself. "Never mind me,
Corrie; I am all right now."

He was white with a singular pallor that Corrie was too inexperienced to
recognize, but he smiled reassurance to his assistant and himself led
the way to the room opposite.

"There is some dose in the glass on the table," he indicated, finding a
chair. "I might drink it, if I had it here. And, don't you want to get
me a cigarette?"

In silence Corrie complied with the requests. Beside the slight,
colorless Gerard, he radiated vigorous health and that scintillant
freshness drawn from days passed in sunlight and sweet air, but his
eyes at this moment held a desperate anxiety and unrest that left the
advantage of contrast to his companion's clear tranquillity of regard.

"You are getting worse," he declared abruptly. "There is no use of
trying to spare my feelings, Gerard; instead of gaining, you are losing
strength."

"I beg your pardon; I am getting better," Gerard corrected with perfect
assurance. He put aside his glass and leaned back in his chair. "You do
not in the least know what you are talking about. Since you are here, we
might get a bit of business done that I had meant to leave until you
came in to luncheon. You understand that the formalities must be
preserved; are you willing to sign one of our regular driver's
contracts, to drive for the Mercury Company this year, and for no one
else?"

"I will do," said Corrie, "whatever you want. Is this the paper?"

He took up a pen and, still standing, wrote his name across the foot of
the document, the other man's attentive gaze followin