always been openly whatever he allowed himself to drift into. Neither
of his friends liked many of his actions, nor the stories told of
him; but they liked him personally and were inclined to be silently
sorry for him, but not to sit in judgment upon him. Both Orville and
Callovan waited and hoped for "old Thornton"; but the wait had been
long and the hope very much deferred.

Callovan was frankly Irish. The curly black hair of the Milesian spoke
for him as clearly as the blue-gray eye. He shaved clean and he looked
clean. An ancestry of hard workers left limbs that lifted him to
almost six feet of strong manhood. His skin was ruddy and fresh. Two
years younger than Thornton, he yet looked younger by five. And
Callovan, like Thornton, was inwardly what the outward signs promised.

Orville was tall and straight. The ghost of a black mustache was on
his lip. His hair was scanty, and was parted carefully. His dress
showed taste, but not fastidiousness. He was handsome, well groomed
and particular, without obtrusiveness in any one of the points. He was
just a little taller than Callovan; but he was grayer and a great deal
more thoughtful. He was a hard book to read, even for an intimate; but
the print was large, if the text was puzzling. He looked to be "in"
the world, but who could say if he were "of" it?

All three of these friends were very rich. Thornton had made his money
within five years--a lucky mining strike, a quick sale, a move to the
city, speculation, politics were mixed up in a sort of rapid-fire
story that the other friends never cared to hear the details of.
Callovan inherited his wealth from his hard-fisted old father, who had
died but a year before. Orville was the richest of the three. He had
always been rich. His father had died a month before he was born. His