ready tired of Glass, of his timidity, his
indecision, his self-effacement, his continual air of apology for
existence.

"Come any time," he said. "Glad to see you. Sorry I can't do any more
for you; but you'll have to decide for yourself."

"Yes, I know," Glass agreed dismally. "I'll look around first. I'm
obliged to you. You--you're sure you won't have a drink? No. Well, I
guess I'll go in and write a letter to my wife. I write to her twice a
week. I'll see you later, maybe."

Casey nodded, glad to be rid of him. He put his feet on the rail and
proceeded to go through his correspondence, which, though bulky, was
not especially important.

"The mails would be a whole lot lighter if it wasn't for fake oil and
cement propositions and special offers of the world's best authors," he
grumbled. "Promoters and publishers seem to consider the small post
office the natural breeding ground for suckers. Maybe they're right,
too. Hello! Here's something different."

It was a large, square, white envelope, perfectly plain, but of
aristocratic finish and thickness.

"Wedding--for the drinks!" growled Casey. "Not so different, after
all." He ripped it open ruthlessly with his thumb. "Here's where I get
set back a few dollars starting another domestic plant. Blamed if it's
any better than--hello!"

It was not a wedding announcement. Instead, it was a check. The amount
thereof was the surprising sum of eighty cents, exchange added; and the
signature, firm, square, clear-cut as lettering, was "_Clyde Burnaby_."

"Now what the devil?" Casey exclaimed, and jerked out the accompanying
letter.

It was merely a short, friendly note. Miss Burnaby inclosed her check
for one year's interest, at 8 per cent. on the loan from Mr. Dunne. She
referred to the Wades. Gave an item or two of unimportant personal
news. Hoped that his ranch was flourishing, and that he was well: and
was his very cordially.

In feminine fashion followed a postscript:

Kitty Wade tells me that you are having trouble with some company
which is taking water that you need for your ranch. I hope it isn't
serious trouble, though she hinted as much. Do you care to tell me
about it?

Casey Dunne sat for some minutes, the check and letter across his
knees, while he gazed unblinkingly through the hot sunshine. It was
some time since he had given Clyde Burnaby more than an occasional
thought; his immediate affairs had been too pressing. Now the vision