do that for Americans." He turned to the door. "Mr. Cornish, if you're
goin' to help me about shipping the car, I'm ready."

"So am I. Good-by, Mr. Mellin."

"Good-by," Mellin said feebly--"and thank you."

Young Cooley came back to the bedside and shook the other's feverish
hand. "Good-by, ole man. I'm awful sorry it's all happened, but I'm glad
it didn't cost you quite as much money as it did me. Otherwise I expect
it's hit us about equally hard. I wish--I wish I could find a _nice
one_"--the youth gulped over something not unlike a sob--"as fascinatin'
as her!"

Most people have had dreams of approaching dangers in the path of which
their bodies remained inert; when, in spite of the frantic wish to fly,
it was impossible to move, while all the time the horror crept closer
and closer. This was Mellin's state as he saw the young man going. It
was absolutely necessary to ask Cooley for help, to beg him for a loan.
But he could not.

He saw Cooley's hand on the doorknob; saw the door swing open.

"Good-by, again," Cooley said; "and good luck to you!"

Mellin's will strove desperately with the shame that held him silent.

The door was closing.

"Oh, Cooley," called Mellin hoarsely.