movements he tore the check into tiny pieces and
scattered them upon the carpet. "I shall leave your house," he
continued, meeting the other's gaze squarely, "without a dollar of
Carmody money, but with ten thousand dollars' worth of McKim
self-respect. Good-by."

There was a note of cold finality in those last two words and the elder
Carmody involuntarily extended his hand. He quitted the room abruptly
as the boy, ignoring the civility, turned away.

An hour later William walked hurriedly down the steps of the Carmody
mansion and, with never a backward glance, hailed a taxi and was
whirled rapidly uptown.

CHAPTER III

THE FINAL KICK

It was Saturday, and Ethel Manton was lunching early that she might
accompany her fifteen-year-old brother on a ride through the park.

A certain story in the morning paper arrested her attention, and she
reread it with flushed face and tightening lips. It was well done, as
newspaper stories go, this account of a lurid night on Broadway which
wound up in a crescendo of brilliance with the flooring of a policeman.
No names were mentioned, but the initiated who read between the lines
knew that only one man could have pulled off the stunt and gotten by
with it.

"For goodness' sake, Eth, aren't you ever going to finish? You'll waste
the whole afternoon over that old paper!"

Young Charlie had bolted his luncheon and waited impatiently in a deep
window-seat overlooking the park. His sister laid down the paper with a
sigh.

"Are the horses ready?" She asked the question in a dull, listless
tone, so unlike her usual self that even Charlie noticed.

"Gee! You don't seem very keen about it. And look what a day! You look
like you were going to a funeral."

Before the girl could reply he turned again to the window: "Look, a
taxi is stopping and somebody is getting out. Oh, it's Bill Carmody!
Ain't he a crackerjack, though? Say, Eth, why don't you marry Bill?
He's just crazy about you--everybody says so, and----"

"Charlie!" The word was jerked out hysterically, and the boy was
puzzled at the crimson of her face.

"Well, I don't care, it's so! And then I'd be a brother-in-law to Bill
Carmody! Why, he can lick everybody down to the gym. He put on the
gloves with _me_ once," he boasted, swelling visibly, "just sparring,
you know; but he promised to teach me the game. And football! There
never was a half-back like Bill Carmody! Why he----"

"Do hush! He might hear you. Run a