"Delbridge is too shrewd to tackle a risk like that," Wright returned.
He glanced about the room cautiously, and then added: "I don't know as
I have any right to be talking about Mostyn's affairs even to you, but
I am pretty sure that he got good news. He didn't show me the telegram
when it came, but I watched his face as he read it. I saw his eyes
flash; he smiled at me, walked toward his office with a light step, as
he always does when he's lucky, and then he swayed sideways and keeled
over in a dead faint. The porter and I picked him up, carried him to
his lounge, and sprinkled water in his face. Then we sent for the
doctor. He gave him a dose of something or other and told him not to
do a lick of work for a month."

"Well, I'll step in and see him." Saunders rose. "I guess he won't
mind. He's too big a plunger for a town of this size. He lets things
get on his nerves too much. He has no philosophy of life. I wouldn't
go his pace for all the money in the U. S. Treasury."

"Right you are," the teller returned, as he went back to his work.

Opening the door of his partner's office, Saunders found him seated on
the lounge smoking a cigar. He was about thirty-five years of age,
tall, broad-shouldered, with blue eyes, yellow mustache, and was good-
looking and well built. Glancing up, he smiled significantly and
nodded. There were dark rings round his eyes, and the hand holding his
cigar quivered nervously.

"I suppose you heard of that silly duck fit of mine?" he smiled, the
corners of his rather sensuous mouth twitching.