The Spectator., 1915-05-07


 the searching glance, which was not without it's touch of envy. You'd bet ter be off. Hustle back as soon as you can" Elmore offered his hand now. Cad! but you haven't lost any of your old grip"
 Pm a bit dazed. The last six months have loosened up my nerves.
 "Nobody's made of iron."
 I'd sound hollow if I tried to say what feel. I'll be back week from today"
 "I'll look for you"
 AS the door closed behind Warning ton, the young millionaire sat down, scowling at a cubby hole in his desk. He presently took out a letter post marked Yokohama. He turned it about in his hands, musingly. Without read ing it (for he knew it's contents wel), he thrust it back into the cubby hole | Women were out of his sphere He could build a bridge within dollar of the bid; but he knew nothing about women beyond the fact that they were always desirable.
 A few monosyllables. a sentence or two. and then, good day. The average man would have recounted every incl dent of note during those ten years. He did not admire Warrington any the less for his reticence. It took strong man to hold himself together under all these blows from the big end of for tunes horn.
 Paul was born engineer; Arthur had entered the office as a makeshift. Paul had taken eight thousand one day, and decamped Arthur had re- funded the sum, and disappeared. Fl more could not understand. nor could his father. Perhaps some of the truth would now come to light Somehow, Paul, with his blond beard and blonder head, his bright eyes his tan, his big shoulders, somehow Paul was out of date. He did not belong to the times
 And Elsa had met him over there; practically ordered (though she had no authority that he should be given start anew; that, moreover, she would go his bond to any amount. Funny old world! Well, he was glad Paul was a man, a big man, and that was the sort needed in the foreign bridge building. He rolled down the top of his desk and left the building. He was in no mood for work.
 The evening of the third day found Warrington in the baggage car, feed ing dilapidated feather-molting bird, who was in a most scandalous tenn. per. Rajah scattered the seeds about, spurned the banana-tip, tilted the wa ter cup and swashbuckled generally. By and by. above the ciack-clack of wheels and rails, came grooming song. The baggageman looked up from his waybook and lowered his pipe He saw the little green bird head. It was the Urdu lullaby James used to sing. It never failed to quiet the little parrot. Warrington went back to his Pullman. where the porter greeted him with the information that the next stop would be his. Ten min utes later he stepped from the train. a small kitbag in one hand and the | parrot cage Tn the Otner.
 He had come prepared for mistake on the part of the natives. The single smart cabman lifted his hat, jumped down from the box, and opened the door. Warrington entered without speaking The door closed, and the coupe rolled away briskly. He was perfectly sure of his destination. The cabman had mistaken him for Arthur. It would be better so. There would be no after complications when he de- parted on the morrow. As the coupe took turn. he looked out of the win. dow. They were entering a driveway, lined on each side of which were chest nuts. Indeed the house was set in the center of a grove of these splendid trees.
 Warrington went up the broad veranda steps and pulled the old-fash- toned bell cord. He was rather amazed at his utter lack of agitation. He was as calm as if he were making a call upon casual acquaintance. His mother and brother, whom he had not seen in ten years! The great oak door drew in, and he entered unceremoni. ously
 Why, Marse A'thuh. I di'n't see yo' go out!" exclaimed the old negro serv. ant.
 Il am not Arthur; I am his brother Paul. Which door?"
 Pop-eyed. the old negro pointed to a door down the hall. Then he leaned against the banistsr and caught des. perately at the spindles. For the voice was not Arthur's.
 Warrington opened the door. closed it gently and stood with his back to it. At desk in the middle of the room sat man. busy with books. He raised his head.
 Arthur, don't you know me?"
 "Paul?"
 The chair overturned: some books thudded duly upon the rug. Arthur leaned with his hands tense upon the desk. Paul sustained the look. his