oxide
which he had applied to the hurt at Wenatchee had brought little relief,
and that morning the increased pain and swelling had forced him to consult
a surgeon, who had probed the wound, cut a little, bandaged it, and
announced curtly that it looked like infection.

"But I can't afford to nurse this hand"--Hollis rose from the couch where
he had thrown himself when he came in from the doctor's office--"I ought
to be using it now." He went over and drew the blinds, but the atmosphere
seemed more stifling. He needed air, plenty of it, clean and fresh in
God's out-of-doors; it was being penned in these close rooms that raised
his temperature. He pulled the shades up again and took a turn across the
floor. Then he noticed the crumpled note which, aimed left-handedly, had
missed the waste basket earlier, when he opened his mail, and he went over
and picked it up. He stood smoothing it on his desk. A perfume, spicy yet
suggestive of roses, pervaded the sheet, which was written in a round,
firm, masculine hand, under the gilt monogram, M.F. His glance ran through
the lines:

"I am writing for my brother, Frederic Morganstein, who is recuperating
aboard his yacht, to ask you to join us on a little cruise around
Bainbridge Island this afternoon at four o'clock. Ever since his interests
have been identified with Alaska, he has hoped to know you personally, and
he wishes particularly to meet you now, to thank you for your services in
Snoqualmie Pass. In the general confusion after the accident I am afraid
none of us remembered to.

"We expect to touch at the Navy Yard and again at Frederic's new villa to
see how the work is coming on, but the trip should not take longer than
four hours, and we are dining informally on board.

"Do not trouble to answer. If the salt air is a strong enough lure this
warm day, you will find the _Aquila_ at Pier Three.

"Very truly yours,

"MARCIA FEVERSHAM.

"Tuesday, September seventh."

"That floating palace ought to stir up some breeze." Tisdale crumpled the
invitation again and dropped it deliberately in the waste basket. "And
to-morrow I shall be shut up on my eastbound train." He looked at his
watch; there was still half an hour to spare before the time of sailing.
"After all, why not?"

A little later, when he had hurried into white flannels as expeditiously
as possible with his disabled hand, the suggestion crept to his inner
consciousness that he might find Mrs. Weatherbee aboa