es.

"The thing will have to be done very cautiously. No one must know. But I
think--I say I think--I can manage it for you."

"You're awfully kind, Mr. Windlebird."

"Not at all, my dear boy, not at all. As a matter of fact, I shall be
doing a very good turn to another pal of mine at the same time." He
filled his glass. "This--" he paused to sip--"this pal of mine has a
large holding of Wildcats. He wants to realize in order to put the money
into something else, in which he is more personally interested." Mr.
Windlebird paused. His mind dwelt for a moment on his overdrawn current
account at the bank. "In which he is more personally interested," he
repeated dreamily. "But of course you couldn't unload thirty pounds'
worth of Wildcats in the public market."

"I quite see that," assented Roland.

"It might, however, be done by private negotiation," he said. "I
must act very cautiously. Give me your check for the thirty thousand
to-night, and I will run up to town to-morrow morning, and see what I
can do."

* * * * *

He did it. What hidden strings he pulled, what levers he used, Roland
did not know. All Roland knew was that somehow, by some subtle means,
Mr. Windlebird brought it off. Two days later his host handed him twenty
thousand one-pound shares in the Wildcat Reef Gold-mine.

"There, my boy," he said.

"It's awfully kind of you, Mr. Windlebird."

"My dear boy, don't mention it. If you're satisfied, I'm sure I am."

Mr. Windlebird always spoke the truth when he could. He spoke it now.

It seemed to Roland, as the days went by, that nothing could mar the
pleasant, easy course of life at the Windlebirds. The fine weather, the
beautiful garden, the pleasant company--all these things combined to
make this sojourn an epoch in his life.

He discovered his mistake one lovely afternoon as he sat smoking idly
on the terrace. Mrs. Windlebird came to him, and a glance was enough to
show Roland that something was seriously wrong. Her face was drawn and
tired.

A moment before, Roland had been thinking life perfect. The only
crumpled rose-leaf had been the absence of an evening paper. Mr.
Windlebird would bring one back with him when he returned from the city,
but Roland wanted one now. He was a great follower of county cricket,
and he wanted to know how Surrey was faring against Yorkshire. But even
this crumpled rose-leaf had been smoothed out, for Johnson, the groom,
who happene