sh wealth-hunting that ever was or ever
shall be. Stick to your ideals. Try them out if you can. As for
me,--it's too late. I am saturated with the money-getting mania; I am
in the maelstrom and I couldn't get out if I tried. I'm in it for
good."

Our conversation was brought to an abrupt ending, as Mr. Horsfal had to
make a short call at one of the newspaper offices, on some business
matter. We got out of the tram together. I waited for him while he
made his call, then we walked back leisurely to the hotel; happy,
pleasantly tired and hungry as hunters.

I was regaled in the dining-room as the guest of my American friend.

"Are you going to be in for the balance of the evening?" he asked, as I
rose to leave him at the conclusion of our after-dinner smoke.

"Yes!"

"Good!" he ejaculated, rather abruptly.

And why he should have thought it "good," puzzled me not a little as I
went up in the elevator.

CHAPTER VIII

Golden Crescent

I had been sitting in my room for two hours, reading, and once in a
while, thinking over the strange adventures that had befallen me since
I had started out from home some three short weeks before. I was
trying to picture to myself how it had all gone in the old home; I was
wondering if my father's heart had softened any to his absent son.

I reasoned whether, after all, I had done right in interfering between
my brother Harry and his fiancee; but, when I thought of poor little
Peggy Darrol and the righteous indignation and anger of her brother
Jim, I felt, that if I had to go through all of it again, I would do as
I had done already.

My telephone bell rang. I answered.

It was the hotel exchange operator.

"Hello!--is that room 280?"

"Yes!" I answered.

"Mr. George Bremner?"

"Yes!"

"A gentleman in room 16 wishes to see you. Right away, if you can,
sir!"

"What name?" I asked.

"No name given, sir."

"All right! I'll go down at once. Thank you!"

I laid aside my pipe and threw on my coat. On reaching the right
landing, I made my way along an almost interminable corridor, until I
stood before the mysterious room 16.

As I entered, a respectably dressed, middle-aged man was coming out,
hat in hand. Two others were sitting inside, apparently waiting an
interview, while a smart-looking young lady,--evidently a
stenographer,--was showing a fourth into the room adjoining.

It dawned on me that this request to call must be the outcome of the
l