and Cycle, you know."

Harvey bowed and stood immovable, as father, daughter, and Mr. McNally
left the garden. She had given him a quick glance, and he wondered what it
meant. He sat down and absently broke the straws in his glass. The
orchestra had stopped, and a buzz of conversation floated into the
foliage. White-clad waiters bustled about with trays piled high.

After another number he started for home, blue and angry. As he left the
elevated and walked down Ashland Avenue, he saw that Jim's house was
lighted up, and he crossed over. Jim and he were better friends than their
relative positions indicated. Neither had family ties, and Jim's interest
in the younger man was perhaps the nearest approach to sentiment he had
felt for years. He seldom openly showed his regard, but Harvey was
perfectly conscious of it, and he valued it highly.

Jim was sitting alone at the table in the library. He greeted Harvey by
tipping back and waving toward a seat. The table was littered with papers.

"How are you?" said Jim. "We've stolen a march on you."

Harvey smiled, and threw himself wearily into a chair at the other end of
the table.

"What is it?" he asked. "C. & S.C. again?"

Jim nodded, and drawing out his cigar case, he took one and tossed the
case down to Harvey, then said:--

"Yes, and I think we've got 'em down. We've issued some more stock." He