"Does Richard drink?" asked the old man huskily, remembering the eulogy
on the Special.

"Bless you, no. Nor smoke either. No, nor gamble, which is more
extraordinary. No, it's all right for old fellows like you and me to
indulge in the Special--bless it--but a young man who needs to keep his
nerves in order, has to live like a monk. I imagine it's a love affair.
Of course, there's no use asking you: you would be the last one to
know. When he came in to-night I saw he was worried over something. I
asked him what it was, but he declared there was nothing wrong. Here's
the liquor. You'll find that it reaches the spot."

The old man gulped down some of the celebrated "Special," then he said--

"Is it true that you induced my son to join this club?"

"Certainly. I heard what he could do from a man I had confidence in,
and I said to myself, We must have young Saunders for a member."

"Then don't you think you are largely to blame?"

"Oh, if you like to put it that way; yes. Still I'm the chief loser. I
lose ten thousand by him."

"Good God!" cried the stricken father.

The banker looked at the old man a little nervously, as if he feared
his head was not exactly right. Then he said: "Of course you will be
anxious to see how the thing ends. Come in with me, but be careful the