"You have heard from Mr. Vanderlip?"

"Fifteen minutes ago." Kirkwood took a cable-form, still damp, from his
pocket, and handed it to his guest. Unfolding it, the latter read:

"_Kirkwood, Pless, London. Stay where you are no good coming back
everything gone no insurance letter follows vanderlip_."

"When I got the news in Paris," Kirkwood volunteered, "I tried the banks;
they refused to honor my drafts. I had a little money in hand,--enough
to see me home,--so closed the studio and came across. I'm booked on the
_Minneapolis_, sailing from Tilbury at daybreak; the boat-train leaves at
eleven-thirty. I had hoped you might be able to dine with me and see me
off."

In silence Brentwick returned the cable message. Then, with a thoughtful
look, "You are sure this is wise?" he queried.

"It's the only thing I can see."

"But your partner says--"

"Naturally he thinks that by this time I should have learned to paint well
enough to support myself for a few months, until he can get things running
again. Perhaps I might." Brentwick supported the presumption with a decided
gesture. "But have I a right to leave Vanderlip to fight it out alone? For
Vanderlip has a wife and kiddies to support; I--"

"Your genius!"