"Not exactly--that is not yet. His business has been going
rather badly.
He has a wife and little baby, you know. And now he has broken
down,--
something wrong with his lungs. The doctor says his only chance
is
a year or eighteen months in Colorado. I wish we could help
him."

"How much would it cost?"

"Three or four thousand, perhaps, as a loan."

"Does the doctor say he will get well?"

"A fighting chance--the doctor says."

The face of the older man changed subtly. Not a line was
altered,
but it seemed to have a different substance, as if it were
carved out of some firm, imperishable stuff.

"A fighting chance," he said, "may do for a speculation, but it
is
not a good investment. You owe something to young Rollins.
Your grateful feeling does you credit. But don't overwork it.
Send him three or four hundred, if you like. You'll never
hear from it again, except in the letter of thanks. But for
Heaven's sake