rested and had got back a sort of
object in life, that his luck would have turned again, just to spite
him. But it didn't. He rose and he rose, and after a bit they made
him a partner. They had the capital, and he had the brain. He'd
found out that he'd more brain than he knew what to do with. Regular
nuisance it was--so beastly active. Used to keep him awake at night,
thinking, when he didn't want to. However, it dried up and let him
alone once he gave it the business to play with. At last the old
partners dropped off the concern--gorged; and he stuck to it. By
that time he had fairly got his hand in; and the last year it was
just a sitting still and watching the long Atlantic roll of the
dollars as they came tumbling in. He stuck till he'd piled them up
behind him, a solid cold five million. And now he's ramping on the
home-path as hard as he can tear. The funny thing is that his people
are as poor as church mice--three brown mice in a fusty little
house like a family pew. But that's the house he's going to. And
that five million's just as much theirs as it is his, and perhaps a
little more."

"Ah," said his fellow-passenger, "that's pretty. That sort of thing
doesn't often happen outside a fairy tale."

"No," said Stephen Lepper simply, "but he made it happen."

"Well?"

"Well? Do you think they'll be _sorry_ to see him? I don't mean
because of the dollars--they won't care about them."

"Of course they won't. My dear sir, it's fine--that story of yours.
It's the Prodigal Son--with a difference."

"A difference? I believe you!"

At this point Stephen Lepper was struck with a humorous idea. It
struck him on the back, as it were, in such a startling manner that
he forgot all about the veil he had woven so industriously. (His
companion, indeed, judged that he had adopted that subterfuge less
as a concealment for his sins than as a decent covering for his
virtues.)

"That prodigal knew what to do with his herd of swine, anyhow. He
killed and cured 'em. And I reckon he'll order his own fatted
calf--and pay for it."

He stood revealed.

The clergyman got down at Rugby. In parting he shook Mr. Stephen K.
Lepper by the hand and wished him--for himself a happy home-coming,
for his friend a good appetite for the fatted calf.

His hand was gripped hard, so that he suffered torture till the
guard slammed to the door of the compartment and separated them.

Mr. Lepper thrust his head out of the window. "No fear!" h