all, it was more than I had ever before held in my hand at once. But
what was a paltry thousand, aye a paltry ten thousand, to a man's
pride? I bit off the end of my cigar, creased the check into a taper,
and struck a match. I watched it burn and burn. I struck another. I
held it within an inch of the check, but for the life of me I could not
light it.

"The devil take it!" I cried. I flung the cigar out of the window and
laid the check on my desk. Courage? Why, it needed the courage of a
millionaire to light a cigar with a $1,000 check!

The office boy, who came in then, was salvation. The managing editor
wanted to see me. I sprang up with alacrity; anything but the sight of
that figure 1 and the three demon eyes of that $1,000 check!

"Winthrop," said the managing editor to me as I entered his office,
"you've got to go to London. Hillars has gone under----"

"Not dead!" I cried.

"No, no! He has had to give up work temporarily on account of drink.
If it was any other man I'd throw him over in short order. But I feel
sorry for Hillars, and I am going to give him another chance. I want
you to go over and take care of him if possible. The London work is
not new to you. You can handle that and Hillars too. If you can keep
him in check----"

I shuddered. The word "check" jarred on my nerves.

"What's the matter?" asked the editor.