rs, father?"

"Down-town."

"Yes, I've heard. But, after all, you people in the Half Moon need only
crawl into your shell and lie still."

"Yes."

After a silence:

"Father, have you any outside matters that trouble you?"

"There are--some."

"You are not involved seriously?"

His father made an effort: "I think not, Duane."

"Oh, all right. If you were, I was going to suggest that I've deposited
what I have, subject to your order, with your own cashier."

"That is--very kind of you, my son. I may--find use for it--for a short
time. Would you take my note?"

Duane laughed. He went on presently: "I wrote Naida the other day. She
has given me power of attorney. What she has is there, any time you need
it."

His father hung his head in silence; only his colourless and shrunken
hands worked on the arms of his chair.

"See here, father," said the young fellow; "don't let this thing bother
you. Anything that could possibly happen is better than to have you look
and feel as you do. Suppose the very worst happens--which it won't--but
suppose it did and we all went gaily to utter smash.

"That is a detail compared with your going to smash physically. Because
Naida and I never did consider such things vital; and mother is a brick
when it comes to a show-down. And as for me, why, if the very worst hits
us, I can take care of our bunch. It's in me to do it. I suppose you
don't think so. But I can make money enough to keep us together, and,
after all, that's the main thing."

His father said nothing.

"Of course," laughed Duane, "I don't for a moment suppose that anything
like that is on the cards. I don't know what your fortune is, but
judging from your generosity to Naida and me I fancy it's too solid to
worry over. The trouble with you gay old capitalists," he added, "is
that you think in such enormous sums! And you forget that little sums
are required to make us all very happy; and if some of the millions
which you cannot possibly ever use happen to escape you, the tragic
aspect as it strikes you is out of all proportion to the real state of
the case."

His father felt the effort his son was making; looked up wearily, strove
to smile, to relight his cigar; which Duane did for him, saying:

"As long as you are not mixed up in that Klawber, Skelton, Moebus crowd,
I'm not inclined to worry. It seems, as of course you know, that
Dysart's brokers failed to-day."

"So I heard," said his father steadily. He st