l as it is now?"

He paused for a reply, but none came.

"Of course none of the directors of the company ever borrow money on
that stock. . . . Need I say more, sir?"

It was evident that there was no need. If there were any of the
directors who did _not_ borrow money on the stock, Mr. Hurd could not
think of them offhand. Once more he walked to the window, and this
time he looked long and thoughtfully out over the level roofs.

"Your point is not badly taken. And in one thing you are probably
right--State Street, if left to itself, would never raise the
question," he said, half to himself. But Wilkinson's reply was ready
and obvious.

"There are so many thoughtless people," he said softly. "One never can
tell when such news might leak out."

His uncle surveyed him sternly. But Charlie's cryptic gaze met his
uncle's, undisturbed.

"Some one _might_ tell," he gently observed, and said no more.

It was some time before Mr. Hurd raised a thoughtful yet somewhat
amused face to that of his caller.

"I'll consider the matter," he said tersely.

"I thank you, sir," replied Charles, with graceful humility, which he
dared assume since his case seemed won. And a moment later South
Framingham's one time pride watched his exit through the grille gate
into the descending elevator.

As Wilkinson started blithely across the Common, he caught sight of a
familiar figure advancing along one of the diagonal paths. He
quickened his already jocund step to meet Miss Maitland at the
intersection of their ways.

"Whither away so briskly this hungry noon?" he inquired with
enthusiasm. "If it were not for the fact that I am in search of some
one to ask me to luncheon, I would ask you to come and lunch with me."

"Then if I were really quite hungry, which I am after an hour in this
autumn air, I should decline your gallant invitation with regret, and
say that I am on my way to lunch with Uncle Silas at the Club."

Charlie was on the point of telling her his news--but changed his
intent. After all, his were incubator chickens at best, and perhaps it
would be wiser to postpone a public enumeration of them. So he merely
replied, "I trust you will have a pleasant luncheon."

"The same to you, and many of them--consecutively," replied the girl,
with a laugh.

"Now, that's what I call a friendly speech," rejoined her escort, and
the two went their separate ways.

At the club whose billiard players have the almost uniqu