before him. His face and figure resumed their
stony immobility. "Oh, is there? Plain?"

"No; pretty. Very pretty. Very unusually pretty. Come to think of it, I
shouldn't mind saying--Yes, I will say it! She's the prettiest girl I've
ever seen." The eyes of the two brothers met. "Bar none."

The smile on Claude's lips might have passed for an expression of
brotherly chaff. "Go it, old chap. Seem smitten."

"Oh, it isn't that. Nothing of the sort at all. I speak of her only
because I'm sorry for her. Brunt of whole thing comes on her."

"Well, what do you propose that we should do?"

"I haven't got as far as proposing. Haven't thought the thing out at
all. But I think we ought to do something--you and I."

"We can't do anything without father--and father won't. He simply won't.
Fay'll have to go. Good thing, too; that's what I say. Get 'em all on a
basis on which they can manage. Fay'll find a job with one of the other
growers--"

"Yes; but what's to become of the girl?"

Claude stared with a kind of bravado. "How the devil do I know? She'll
do the best she can, I suppose. Go into a shop. Lots of girls go into
shops."

Thor studied his brother with mild curiosity. "You're a queer fellow,
Claude. A minute ago you couldn't remember Fay's name; and now you've
got his whole business at your fingers' ends."

But Claude repeated his explanation. "Got father's business at my
fingers' ends, if that's what you mean. In such big affairs chap like
Fay only a detail. Couldn't recall him at first, but once I'd caught on
to him--"

By moving away toward the inner office, where Cheever was still at work,
Claude intimated that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was
ended. Thor returned to his runabout.

"Say, Claude," Cheever called, "comin' to see 'The Champion' to-night,
ain't you? Countin' on you."

Claude laid a friendly hand on Cheever's arm. He liked to be on easy
terms with his father's clerks. "Awfully sorry, Billy, but you must
excuse me. Fact is, that damn-fool brother of mine has been putting his
finger in my pie. Got to do something to get it out--and do it quick.
Awfully sorry. Sha'n't be free."

CHAPTER IV

Beside his favorite window at the club, commanding the movement of the
street and the bare trees of the park, Len Willoughby had got together
the essentials to a pleasant hour. They consisted of the French and
English illustrated papers, two or three excellent Havanas, a bottle of