it into the bargain?" he asked heatedly, then adding in disgust,
"And to do it in such an underhand way, writing to a girl like
Violet, and never giving me a chance to square myself. If I could
get my hands on that fellow," he added viciously, "I'd qualify him
for the coroner!"

Warrington had flown into a towering and quite justifiable rage.
Garrick, however, ignored his anger as natural under the
circumstances, and was about to ask him a question.

"Just a moment, Garrick," forestalled Warrington. "I know just
what you are going to say. You are going to ask me about those
gambling places. Now, Garrick, I give you my word of honor that I
did not know until to-day that the property in that neighborhood
was owned by our estate. I have been in that joint on Forty-eighth
Street--I'll admit that. But, you know, I'm no gambler. I've gone
simply to see the life, and--well, it has no attraction for me.
Racing cars and motorboats don't go with poker chips and the red
and black--not with me. As for the other place, I don't know any
more about it than--than you do," he concluded vehemently.

Warrington faced Garrick, his steel-blue eye unwavering. "You see,
it's like this," he resumed passionately, "since this vice
investigation began, I have read a lot about landlords. Then,
too," he interjected with a mock wry face, "I knew that Violet's
Aunt Emma had been a crusader or something of the sort. You see,
virtue is NOT its own reward. I don't get credit even for what I
intended to do--quite the contrary."

"How's that?" asked Garrick, respecting the young man's temper.