Homer Bulson was a fashionable man of the world. He had traveled a good deal and seen far more of a certain kind of "high life" than was good for him, either mentally or morally. He was fond of liquor and of gambling, and had almost run through the money which an indulgent parent had left him.

He was alone in the world, so far as immediate members of his family were concerned, but he had an uncle, Mark Horton, just mentioned, and also a cousin, Gertrude Horton, who was the ward of the retired merchant. This Gertrude Horton was the young lady who had offered to assist Nelson, and who had just recognized our hero from her seat at the window opposite.

In the fashionable world Homer Bulson cut a "wide swath," as it is commonly called, but he managed to keep his doings pretty well hidden from his uncle, who supposed him to be a model young man.

The young man's reason for this was, his uncle was rich and at his death would leave a large property, and he wished to become heir to a large portion of what Mark Horton left behind him. He knew his uncle was a strict man, and would not countenance his high mode of living, should he hear of it.

Homer Bulson watched Nelson curiously, and then looked across the street to see if he could catch his cousin Gertrude's eye. But the young lady was now out of sight.

"How is it that she knows that street boy?" Bulson asked himself, as he walked into the house to stow away the books he had purchased. "I don't like it at all—seeing that he was with the man who sold me these books. I hope he doesn't ever tell her I've been buying books on poisons."

Entering one of his rooms—he occupied several—he locked the door and threw himself into an easy-chair. Soon he was looking over the books, and reading slowly, for his knowledge of French was decidedly limited.

"Oh, pshaw! I can't make anything out of this," he exclaimed at last. "That English book on poisons I picked up at the second-hand book store is good enough for me. I might as well put these in a fire." But instead he hid them away at the bottom of a trunk.

With the books on poisons out of his sight, Homer Bulson turned to his wardrobe and made a new selection of a suit of light brown which his tailor had just brought to him.

He was putting on the suit when there came a knock on the door.

"Who's there?" asked the young man.

"Mr. Grodell, sir," was the answer.

Mr. Grodell was the agent of the apartment house, and had come for his rent.

Homer Bulson was behind four months in payments, and the agent was growing anxious for his money.

"Very sorry, Mr. Grodell, but I am just changing my clothes," said the spendthrift.

"Then I'll wait," was the answer.

"Better not, it will take some time."

"I am in no hurry, Mr. Bulson," said the agent.

"Oh, pshaw! why does he bother me!" muttered Homer Bulson. "I haven't got any money for him."

He did not know what to do, and scratched his head in perplexity.

"Come around Saturday and I will pay you in full," he called out.

"You told me you would pay me last Saturday, Mr. Bulson."

"I know I did, but I was disappointed about a remittance. I will surely have your money this coming Saturday."

"Without fail?"

"Without fail."

"All right, Mr. Bulson. But I must have it then, or else take possession of the rooms." And with this parting shot the agent departed.

"The impudent fellow!" muttered Homer Bulson. "To talk to me in that fashion! He shall wait until I get good and ready to pay him!"

Nevertheless, the young man's pocketbook was very nearly empty, and this worried him not a little.

Several times he had thought of applying to his uncle for a loan, but each time had hesitated, being afraid that Mark Horton would suspect his extravagant mode of living.

"But I must get money somehow," he told himself.

At last he was dressed, and then he peered out into the hallway.

The agent had really gone, and satisfied on this point Homer Bulson left the residence for a stroll on Fifth Avenue.

This occupied over an hour, and then he walked over to one of the clubs to which he was attached, where he dined in the best of style.

After dinner came a game or two of billiards, and then he took a cab to his uncle's mansion near the Park.

He found Mark Horton seated in an invalid's chair in the library, and nearby was Gertrude trying her best to make the elderly man comfortable.

Evidently the elderly man was in a bad humor, for his eyes flashed angrily as the nephew entered.

The trouble was Mark Horton and his niece Gertrude had had something of a quarrel. The invalid wished Gertrude to marry her cousin Homer, and the girl did not desire the match, for she realized what a spendthrift and generally worthless fellow Bulson was.

Both knew that their uncle had made a will leaving his property divided equally between them, and Gertrude was almost certain that Bulson wished to marry her simply in order to gain control of everything.

The girl hated very much to displease her uncle, for she realized what troubles he had had in the past. A fearful railroad accident had deprived the man of his beloved wife years before, and shortly after this happening other trials had come to him, which had broken him down completely. What these trials were will be revealed as our story progresses.

"Well, Uncle Mark, how goes it to-day?" asked Homer Bulson, on walking in.

"Not very well, Homer," was the feeble answer.

"Uncle Mark had quite a bad attack about two hours ago," put in Gertrude Horton. "I had to send for the doctor."

"Wasn't he here this morning?"

"Yes, but I thought best to have him again," answered the girl.

"That's right."

"The doctor seems to do me small good," put in the invalid, in a feeble voice. "He doesn't seem to understand my case at all."

"He is one of the best physicians in New York," answered Homer Bulson.

"So you said before, Homer. Well, I doubt if I ever get any better."

"Oh, Uncle Mark!" cried Gertrude, much shocked.

"I seem to be completely broken down," went on the invalid. "At times the strangest of sinking spells come over me. I feel very, very old."

There was a painful silence, and Gertrude rearranged the pillow behind the invalid's head.

"Did you see about those stocks to-day, Homer?" went on Mark Horton. "I had forgotten about them."

"I did, sir."

"And what did the broker say?"

"He urged me to hold on awhile longer."

"And you have them still?"

"Yes, uncle."

"Very well; do as he advises. Some day, when I am stronger, I must attend to many other business matters."

"Oh, Uncle Mark, don't worry about business," pleaded Gertrude, passing her arm around his neck.

There was another pause and Mark Horton gazed sharply at Gertrude. Then he turned to Homer Bulson.

"She won't marry you, Homer—I don't know why," he said.

The face of the young man fell, and he bit his lip.

"Well, I suppose she will do as she pleases," he remarked, somewhat sarcastically.

"I think I should be allowed to make my own choice," said Gertrude. She had already refused Bulson several times.

"I can't understand it," said the invalid. "To my mind you are just suited to each other."

"I do not think so," answered Gertrude.

"And why not?"

"I would rather not say, Uncle Mark."

"You can't have anything against me personally," put in Bulson, with a scowl.

"But I have!" cried the girl. "You go to the race-track, and drink, and gamble, and I do not like it."

A stormy scene followed, in which all three in the room took part. Strange to say, Mark Horton sided with his nephew, for he did not realize the blackness of Bulson's character.

"You are prejudiced and foolish," cried the invalid at last, turning to his niece. "You do not wish to please me in anything." And so speaking, he arose and tottered from the room. Homer Bulson made as if to follow him, then reconsidered the matter and sank back into a chair. Poor Gertrude burst into a flood of tears.