ous ways to secure attention. But when, after singing eight
verses of the most doleful ditty in his repertoire, he was not ordered
to "shut up," was in fact ignored altogether, he quit disgusted. But, as
he closed the door of his own bedchamber, he could still hear the
regular footfalls in the spare stateroom.

Had he listened for another hour or more he would have heard them. Sears
Kendrick was tramping back and forth, his hands jammed in his pockets,
and upon his spirit the blackest and deepest and densest of clouds. It
was the reaction, of course. He was tired physically, but more tired
mentally. All day long he had been under a sharp strain, now he was
experiencing the let-down. But there was more than that. His campaign
against Egbert Phillips had kept him interested. Now the fight was over
and, although superficially he was the victor, in reality it was a
question which side had won. He had saved George Kent's money and his
good name. And Cordelia Berry's future was safe, too, although her two
thousand dollars might be, and probably were, lost. But, after all, his
was a poor sort of victory. Egbert was, doubtless, congratulating
himself and chuckling over the outcome of the battle; with thirty
thousand dollars and ease and comfort for the rest of his life, he could
afford to chuckle. Kent's happiness was sure. He could go to Elizabeth
now with clean hands and youth and hope. Perhaps he had gone to her
already. That very evening he and she might be together once more.

And for the man who had made this possible, what remained? Where were
those silly hopes with which, at one time, he had deluded himself? He
had dared to dream romance. Where was that romance now? Face to face
with reality, what was to be _his_ future? More days and weeks and years
of puttering with the penny-paring finances of a home for old women?

He dressed next morning with a mind made up. He had dallied and
deliberated and wished long enough. Now he _knew_. His stay in Bayport
was practically ended. Give him a little time and luck enough to find a
competent manager for the Fair Harbor, one with whom he believed Judge
Knowles would have been satisfied, and he was through for good. He must
play fair with the judge and then--then for the shipping offices of
Boston or New York and a berth at sea. His health was almost normal;
his battered limbs were nearly as sound as ever. He could handle a ship
and he could handle men. His fights and sacrifices f