exchanged the commonplaces of a railway station good-bye from either
side of a compartment window.

Olive's last words were: "Remember, I'm expecting you to bring your
brother with you to-morrow."

A very tired look was in Matheson's eyes, and a weary droop on his
shoulders, as the train pulled out and he was left alone on the
platform.

Two Frenchmen whispered to one another about him. "The milord Matheson,
see you! The very rich milord Matheson."

"Ah, if I were only a rich man too!"

"What would you do?"

"I should _spend_. How I should spend!" He licked his lips at the
thought of the pleasures of body that money could buy him.

"I should _save_," said the other. "I should make myself the richest man
in the world. That would be glorious!"

These last words reached the ears of Matheson, and set up a curious
train of thought as he drove in his cab to his office in the Rue
Laffitte. The words carried him back to a forest-clearing in the
backwoods of Ontario, where he and his half-brother had made holiday
camp some eighteen years before. They were comparing ambitions--two
young men unusually alike in features but very different in temperament
and will-power. John Rivière, the elder of the two, was dreaming of fame