rop in and see me."

"You are certainly making good headway among the millionaires," I told
him.

"They're the fellows I'm gunning for," he answered quietly.

"Look here, Gordon," I began at once. "Frances Dupont is out of a job.
Fire in the shanty next door, and her employer has been flooded out. You
were saying something about wishing to--"

"Yes, I know I was," he replied, staring vaguely at the floor. "I--I'll
have to think about it."

"I suppose you have some other pressing work on hand."

He made no answer, going up to the humidor on the mantel and selecting a
cigar, which he lighted very deliberately.

"Have one?" he asked me.

"No, thanks," I declined. "I'll help myself to a cigarette. One of those
perfectos so early in the morning would set my head whirling."

He looked at me, twirling his fine moustache, without appearing to see
me, and began pacing up and down the wonderful silk rug on the floor,
his cigar in his mouth and his hands deep in his trousers pockets.

"I'll tell you, Dave," he began, but was interrupted by another ring at
the bell. A moment later Mr. Lorimer was admitted, a big man with a
leonine head, strong and rather coarse features and eyes like Toledo
blades, who spoke slowly, weighing his words.

"Good morning, Mr. McGrath," he said. "I shall be obliged, if you will
show me some of your work."

"I want to introduce my friend, David Cole," said Gordon; "he's a writer
of charming novels."

"Always glad to meet any one who can do things, Mr. Cole," said the big
man, putting out his hand. "What have you written?"

Gordon at once came to my rescue, mentioning two or three titles of my
books.

"'The First Million'! You wrote that, did you? Read it on my way to
Europe, three years ago. You're a clever man, Mr. Cole, but it was a
mistake on your part to make a millionaire sympathetic and refined.
Didn't make much out of the book, did you?"

"It only sold about four thousand," I acknowledged.

"Thought so. That fellow Lorgan was neither fish, flesh, fowl or good
red herring. In a novel, a very rich man should be made bearable by
foolishly giving away huge sums of money, or else unbearable in order to
show the contrast offered by the poor, but honest, hero. That's what the
public wants, I should judge. As a simple human being a magnate is
impossible in modern fiction."

"My friend Gordon works from the model and sticks to it," I ventured. "I
have been silly enough to depend alto