cronies. He scribbled inexplicable figures on the backs of golf cards,
bar checks, and menus.

By the end of the first week he had made definite promises to all of
his creditors. He guaranteed that every one should be paid before the
middle of November. Moreover, he set aside in his calculations the sum
of $7,000 for the purchase of a new house. Early in the second week he
had virtually expended $15,000 of what he expected to receive, and was
giving thanks for increased opportunities.

He called at the Gamble house regularly, even faithfully. True, he
urged Martha to play on the piano nearly all of the time, but to all
intents and purposes it was a courtship.

When the engagement was announced, the town--in utter ignorance of the
conspiracy--went into convulsions. The half-dozen old maids in upper
circles who had long since given up hope began to prink and perk
themselves into an amazing state of rejuvenation,--revival, you might
say. They tortured themselves with the hope that never dies. They even
lent money to impecunious gentlemen who couldn't believe their senses
and went about pinching themselves.

Eddie Ten Eyck's credit was so good that he succeeded in borrowing
nearly five thousand dollars from erstwhile adamantine sceptics.

One day the General met him in the street. The old soldier wore a
troubled look. "She's sick," he said without preamble. "Got pains all
over her and chills, too."

"Is it serious?" demanded Eddie.