he butts of cigars and
innumerable cork-tipped cigarettes lay smothered in gray ashes that
spilled untidily in sundry ash-trays. There was a char of burned paper
in the open grate where a few coals still glowed redly. The desk was
covered with packets of folded papers, held together by rubber bands,
and loose sheets upon which much figuring had been done with the blue
pencil which his uncle favored. A stock certificate or two peeped from
a closed account book.

Phil looked again at the bowed figure, struck by a laxity of manner
that was foreign to the Honorable Milton Waring. His thick iron-gray
hair, usually so carefully brushed, was rumpled on end where his
fingers had plowed and held his head while he figured with the other
hand. He had removed his collar and tossed it aside impatiently; it
lay on the floor behind the chair, leaving the tie still hanging
loosely around the neck, the end of it twisted over one shoulder. The
door in front of which the intruder stood was outside the older man's
line of vision; but Phil could see a flushed cheek, and there was an
air of dejection in his uncle's attitude quite out of keeping with
customary poise.

The subject of these observations reached abruptly for the decanter on
the desk and poured himself a stiff drink of Scotch whisky. The neck
tinkled a little tattoo against the glass. He swallowed the liquor
neat and shook his head in a spasmodic grimace. The sigh with which he
settled back in his chair was one of utter weariness.

Phil gave a slight cough to announce his presence.

"Pardon me, Uncle Milt, if I'm intruding, but I didn't know you were in
town---- Why, what's wrong?" he ended quickly; for his uncle had
sprung from his chair and was clinging to the edge of the desk for
support while he stared as if he were gazing at an apparition.

In truth, quite aside from his quiet entry, the young man's appearance
was startling enough. His facial disfigurement achieved a bizarre
effect which the condition of his clothes served to heighten. The once
jaunty panama hat hung shapelessly about his ears and from beneath it a
plaster of blond hair slanted across his forehead rakishly. His collar
was a soggy mess, from which depended a dark red string in sorry
travesty of a flowing tie. His shirt was soiled with mud, his coat and
trousers full of wrinkles.

"For heaven's sake, boy! What's happened? Train wreck?" He dropped
back into his chair, eyeing his nephew i