could get there sooner than walking. It took all the change I had to
get the prescription filled."

"Darn you, Wittemore! What do you think I am? I'll take the medicine to
the old lady--ten old ladies if necessary! You get your train! There's
your suit-case. Have you got plenty of money?"

A blank look came over the poor fellow's face. "If I could find Dick
Folsom I would have about enough. He owes me something. I did some
copying for him."

Courtland's hand was in his pocket. He always had plenty of money about
him. That had never been one of his troubles. He had been to the bank
that day, fortunately. Now he thrust a handful of bills into Wittemore's
astonished hands.

"There's fifty! Will that see you through? And I can send you more if
you need it. Just wire me how much you want."

Wittemore stood looking down at the bills, and tears began to run down
his cheeks and splash upon them. Courtland felt his own eyes filling.
What a pitiful, lonely life this had been! And the fellows had let him
live that way! To think that a few paltry greenbacks should bring
_tears_!

A few minutes later he stood looking after the whirling taxi as it bore
away Wittemore into the darkness of the evening street, his heart
pounding with several new emotions. Witless Abner for one! What a
surprise he had been! Would everybody you didn't fancy turn out that way
if you once got hold of the key of their souls and opened the door?