hate these competitions!"

Her son smiled reassuringly. "You needn't. I'm not afraid: I think I shall
pull it off this time. In fact, Paul's the only man I'm afraid of--I'm
always afraid of Paul--but the mere fact that he's in the thing is a
tremendous stimulus."

His mother continued to study him with an anxious tenderness. "Have you
worked out the whole scheme? Do you _see_ it yet?"

"Oh, broadly, yes. There's a gap here and there--a hazy bit, rather--it's
the hardest problem I've ever had to tackle; but then it's my biggest
opportunity, and I've simply _got_ to pull it off!"

Mrs. Peyton sat silent, considering his flushed face and illumined eye,
which were rather those of the victor nearing the goal than of the runner
just beginning the race. She remembered something that Darrow had once said
of him: "Dick always sees the end too soon."

"You haven't too much time left," she murmured.

"Just a week. But I shan't go anywhere after this. I shall renounce the
world." He glanced smilingly at the festal tea-table and the embowered
desk. "When I next appear, it will either be with my heel on Paul's
neck--poor old Paul--or else--or else--being dragged lifeless from the
arena!"

His mother nervously took up the laugh with which he ended. "Oh, not
lifeless," she said.