come home.
With love,
Jim



Slowly he folded the letter and inserted it in the envelope, his face
mirroring an utter dejection such as Jimmy Torrance had never before
experienced in his life.

"Failure," he muttered, "unutterable failure."

Taking his hat, he walked down the creaking stairway, with its
threadbare carpet, and out onto the street to post his letter.




CHAPTER V.

JIMMY LANDS ONE.

Miss Elizabeth Compton sat in the dimly lighted library upon a
deep-cushioned, tapestried sofa. She was not alone, yet although there
were many comfortable chairs in the large room, and the sofa was an
exceptionally long one, she and her companion occupied but little more
space than would have comfortably accommodated a single individual.

"Stop it, Harold," she admonished. "I utterly loathe being mauled."