nsciously he
squared his shoulders and there was an unwonted dignity in his reply:

"I am well aware that my accomplishments are more in the nature of
liabilities than assets. In spite of this I will make good--somewhere."

He stepped closer to the girl, and his voice grew harsh, almost rasping
in its intensity. "I _can_ beat the game. And I will beat it--now! Just
to show you and your kind what a _man_ can do--a man, I mean," he
added, "'whose sole recommendation seems to be that he can lick most
anybody--and can drink more and stay soberer than any of the sports he
travels with.' Incidentally, I am glad to know your real opinion of me.
I once believed that you were different from the others--that in you I
had found a woman who possessed a real soul."

He laughed, a short, grating laugh--deep down, as though rude fingers
drew a protest from raw heart-strings--a laugh that is not good to
hear.

"I even thought," he went on, "that you cared for me--a little. That
you were the one woman who, at the last of things, would give a man a
helping hand, a little word of encouragement and hope, perhaps, instead
of the final kick."

He bowed stiffly and turned toward the door. "Good-by!" he said, and
the heavy portieres closed behind him.

In the room the girl, white as marble, heard the click of the front
door, the roar of a newly cranked motor, and the dying _chug, chug_ of
the retreating taxi.

That afternoon Charlie Manton rode alone, and when he returned, hungry
as a young wolf, to be told that his sister had retired with a sick
headache, he drew his own conclusions, nodding sagely over his solitary
dinner.

Later, as he passed her door on the way to his room, he placed his ear
at the keyhole and listened a long time to her half-muffled sobs.

"Gee!" he muttered as he passed down the hall, "they must have had an
awful scrap!" He turned and quietly retraced his steps. In the library
he switched on the lights and crossed to the telephone.

"There isn't any sense in that," he said, speaking to himself. "Bill
loves Eth--that's a cinch. And she does love him, too, even if she
won't let on.

"She wouldn't stick up in her room all day bawling her eyes out if she
didn't. I'll call Bill up and tell him so, then he'll come and they'll
make up. I bet he's sorry, too, by now."

At the Carmody residence he was told that Bill was not in. He received
the same answer from several clubs, at each of which he left explicit
instr