" Well," said Barclay, turning toward his visitor
brusquely, " why won't you renew that accommodation
paper for me again ? "

The Papins and the Dulangprés shrugged their shoul-
ders and waved their hands through Brownwell rather
nastily as he answered, " Circumstances, Mr. Barclay,
circumstances ! "

" You're not getting along fast enough, eh ? " retorted
Barclay.

" Yes — and no," returned Brownwell.

"What do you mean?" asked Barclay, half divining the
truth.

"Well — it is after all our own affair — but since you
are a friend I will say this : three times a week — some-
times four times a week I go out to pay my respects.
Until November I stayed until nine, at Christmas we put
on another hour ; now it is ten-thirty.I am a man, John
Barclay—as you see.She—she is an angel. Very
good. In that way, yes. But," the Papins and Du-
langprés came back to his face, and he shook his head.
"But otherwise—no.There we stand still. She will
not say it."

Barclay squinted at the man who sat so complacently in
the glow of the firelight, with his cane between his toes
and his gloves lightly fanning the air. " So I take it,"
said John, " that you are like the Memorial Day parade,
several hours passing a given point ! "

" Exactly," smiled back Brownwell.He drew from his
pocket a diamond ring. " She will look at it ; she will ad-
mire it.She will put it on a chain, but she will not wear
it. And so I say, why should I put my head in a noose
here in your bank — what's the use ? No, sir, John Bar-
clay— no, sir. I'm done, sir."

Barclay knew wheedling would not move Brownwell.
He was of the mulish temperament. So Barclay stretched
out in his chair, locked his hands back of his head, and
looked at the ceiling through his eyelashes.After a
silence he addressed the cobwebs above him : " Supposing
the case.Would a letter from me to you, setting forth

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