Shortly after David had left the offices of Bernard, White & Bascomb, Wallie Bascomb came down the broad steps of the Saturn Club, and stepped briskly into his big slate-colored machine. “Jimmy,” he said, addressing the boyish-looking chauffeur, “what’s the speed limit between here and home?”

“Eight miles, sir,” said the other, as he reached forward for the starting-lever. He had answered that question frequently and thoroughly understood its import.

“I want to be back here in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lever shot forward. Slowly the car swung in a half-circle, was reversed and backed across the street. It lunged forward again as the clash and groan of the whirring gears gave place to the multiple throbbing of the sixty-horse-power cylinders.

“If you happen to get the cramp in your leg, Jimmy, just push on the accelerator pedal. That’ll help some.”

The chauffeur nodded, and the throbbing of the engine grew to a sonorous hum as the car shot down the street.

Bascomb leaned back in the comfortable tonneau and glanced at his watch. “Half-past five. Let me see—allow fifteen minutes to dress—ten back to the club—five to see old Tillinghast, confound the punctual old pirate—that’s six o’clock. Then ten back to the house (I hope Bessie won’t keep me waiting) and dinner at seven. Miss Ross is another stickler for ‘on time or bust.’ Well, it won’t be Jimmy’s fault if we don’t do either. Now, I wonder what’s up? Bessie has been thicker than bees with Miss Ross ever since Davy flew away. And now I’m haled from a nice comfy corner in the club to have dinner with that estimable Scotchwoman. Bet she’ll talk Davy from consommÉ to coffee.”

The car slowed down as they hurtled over a cross-street where a blue helmet and a warning hand appeared and vanished. Bascomb grinned as they swung to the curb a block farther down the street.

“You’re two minutes ahead of schedule, James. How’s your leg?”

“Much easier, sir,” replied that youth, working his foot on the brake-pedal tentatively.

Bascomb ran up the steps and entered the wide hallway, so similar, in its general characteristics of ponderous ornamentation, to a hundred others on the street, and rushed up the soft carpeted stairs.

“Hello, Bess!”

“Hello, Wallie. No, you can’t come in, but I’ll be down in—five minutes.”

“Well, if you’re at the ‘can’t-come-in’ stage I can see five minutes do a glide from six-thirty to seven and not shed a hair. Little brother Wallie is in for a quick change from ‘sads’ to ‘glads.’ I’ll be back for you at half-past six exactly.”

“You’ll be back? Walter Bascomb, where are you going? I’m nearly ready.”

Wallie thrummed on the closed bedroom door.

“Down town—important. Asbestos gentleman with large check-book. Must dress. Ta ta, sis.”

He hurried to his room and reappeared in a few minutes in evening clothes. He stepped softly past his sister’s door and down the stair, a sleek, full-bodied figure, with much in the erect carriage of the head and breadth of shoulder suggesting the elder Bascomb. At that moment his sister swept from her room and came to the head of the stairs. He saw her as he swung into his coat.

“Don’t detain me, Bessie dear,” he said, anticipating her. “I’ll be back quicker than—Jimmy made it in five minutes coming up.”

“Walter, you’ll kill some one some day. It’s a shame, the way you make James drive. I know he’s not a bit reckless, but you just, just—”

“Bye-bye, sis. I’ll be back at six-thirty.”

“No, James isn’t reckless—not a bit,” he muttered, as he ran down the steps; “are you, Jimmy?”

“Are I what, sir?”

“Are you able to make the club again in five minutes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I knew Bessie was wrong,” he said mysteriously, as he entered the machine.

James, inferring that his ability to “make time” had been questioned by Miss Bascomb,—although not a little surprised, as she had always cautioned him to drive reasonably,—made the trip in four minutes, despite the increased traffic of the hour.

Punctually at half-past six they were at Bascomb’s home again.

Elizabeth Bascomb, gowned in soft gray, with here and there a touch of silver which accentuated the delicate coloring of her cheeks and lent her a certain aristocratic hauteur, came down the steps and stepped lightly into the car. Her brother drew her cloak about her shoulders.

“You look just like Ophelia—in the second act, you know, Bess.”

She accepted his somewhat over-picturesque compliment with a tolerant smile.

“I say, Bess, don’t pay any attention to me. I’m only one of the accessories,—Miss Ross’s place, James,—but you might let me look at you once in a while. I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

She turned her full blue eyes toward him and gazed thoughtfully at his eager face, as they sped easily up the long slope of the hill.

“Father told me that Mr. Ross was in town—had been at the office,” she said presently, smoothing the back of her gloved hand pensively. “He said David left the office in a rather peculiar manner.”

“Didn’t know the pater was home. So Davy’s back in civilization again. Well, I’m not surprised. Davy is a stiff-necked beastie at times. Wonder whether he brought Smoke or not? I asked him to in my last letter.”

“I don’t know,” replied his sister. “Papa said he asked for you.”

“Well, he’ll probably show up to-morrow. By Jove, perhaps he’s at his aunt’s now!”

“I had thought of that,” said Miss Bascomb quietly.

“You don’t seem enthusiastic about it, sis.”

“Why should I be?” she replied indifferently.

“That’s so; but, Bessie,”—and he took her hand and patted it playfully,—“why shouldn’t you be?”

“Little brothers shouldn’t ask too many questions,” she replied, assuming his manner playfully.

“Of course not. But seriously, Bess,—I never believed in trying to do the ‘bless you, my children’ business, you know that,—what is wrong between Davy and you? Great Scott!” he exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm, “Davy Ross is worth a whole regiment of—my kind. Honest Injun, Bess, he’s going to do something one of these days. It’s in his eye.”

The car swung round a corner and gathered speed as they slipped down a quiet side street.

“What is the trouble, Bess?”

“Nothing,” she replied indifferently.

“That settles it. When ‘nothing’s’ the matter, the bun is off the stove. A girl can overlook larceny, bigamy, arson, robbery, contempt of court, and murder, but ‘nothing,’”—he sighed ponderously.

“Walter!”

“Beg your pardon—whatever it was—yes?”

“You’re getting dreadfully—slangy, Walter.”

“Getting? Since when?”

“It’s growing on you.”

They glided down the smooth asphalt silently. Presently she turned to him, placing both hands on his knee.

“Papa said he had asked David to call. Now, papa knows that David and I have had a misunderstanding. Why should he deliberately ignore me and invite David to the house? I know he won’t accept.”

“Don’t be too certain, Bess. There may be reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“Oh, business. Davy’s crossed the pater’s trail up in the woods—and happens to have stumbled on to a rather good thing—if he only knows it.”

“Does papa want him to know it?”

“Why, how serious you are, Bessie. How should I know what the pater’s up to?”

“If you’re going to prevaricate, Wallie, I’ll not ask any more questions.”

“Oh, come, now, Bess, business is business—”

“I didn’t regard our chat as just business,” she replied.

“Of course it isn’t. I meant between Davy and the governor. Anyway, I don’t see why you shouldn’t know—if you’ll promise not to say a word to any one.”

“Do you need to ask me that?”

“No,” he answered hesitatingly. He glanced at his sister, noting the faint pallor of her delicate features. “Poor Bess,” he thought, “she’s hit harder than I imagined.”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Bessie. Things haven’t been running smoothly in the office. The pater’s really in bad shape financially. We had a chance to make good on a land deal up North till Davy blundered on to the same thing, and he’s got the whip-hand. If we can interest Davy—”

“You needn’t say any more, Walter. I understand—”

“I’ll tell you all about it when we have more time, Bess, but we’re too near—” He grasped her arm and threw himself in front of her as the car slid sideways, the rear wheels skidding across the pavement as the chauffeur jammed the brake-pedal down and swung the steering-wheel over at the same instant.

“What is it?” she gasped.

“It’s all right, sis,” he assured her, as he jumped to the pavement and ran round to the front of the car where James was stooping over a huddled figure.

“My God, Jimmy! Did you hit him?”

“Missed him by a hair,” said the trembling chauffeur, as he knelt beside the prostrate figure. “Saw him laying there when I was right on top of him. Guess he’s had a fit or something.”

Bascomb lifted the shoulders of the prostrate man to a level with the headlights of the car. As the white light streamed over their faces he stifled an exclamation. The chauffeur stepped back.

“S-s-sh! It’s Mr. Ross, a friend of mine. Tell Miss Bascomb it’s all right.”

But his sister had followed him and stood gazing at the upturned ghastly face.

“Wallie!” she cried, “it’s David. Oh, Wallie—”

James sprang to her as she swayed, and drooped to a passive weight in his arms.

Together they carried her up the steps and into the house. Miss Ross directed them to an upper room, where with quiet directness she administered restoratives to the unconscious girl.

Bascomb motioned to James, who descended the stairs, and crossing the walk, stooped over the inert figure. He tried to lift the man to the car, but was unable to more than partially drag him along the pavement.

“Miss Bascomb is all right now. She fainted, and no wonder,” said Bascomb, as he joined the chauffeur. Together they placed David in the car. “Just a minute, Jimmy.” He dashed upstairs and to the bedroom.

“What was it, dearie?” Miss Ross was smoothing the girl’s forehead with a soothing hand.

“A man—in the street—we nearly ran over him.”

Her brother signaled his approval with his eyes and turned toward Miss Ross. “You’ll excuse me, but I’ll have to run up to the hospital with him. He seems to have had a fit of some kind. I’ll be back soon.”

“It’s Miss Ross’s nephew. I didn’t tell her,” he said, as he climbed into the chauffeur’s seat. “You make him as comfortable as you can, Jimmy. The hospital’s the place for him. It’s quicker if he’s hurt—besides, I didn’t have the heart to tell her, but I’ll have to when I come back.”

The car jumped forward as he spoke, and Jimmy, half supporting the sick man, remembered nothing distinctly except the hum of the engines and two long streaks of light on each side of the roadway until they slowed down at the doors of the hospital.

They waited in an anteroom while David was being examined by a corpulent and apparently disinterested individual, who finally called an attendant and gave a few brief directions.

“No fractures and apparently no internal injuries, but he’s had a close call sometime or other,” he concluded, running his fingers over the scar above David’s temple. “I’ll step out and see his friends.”

“Why, hello, Bascomb. Didn’t recognize you at first. Who is the chap?”

“Davy Ross, Miss Ross’s nephew. I think you know her, Doctor Leighton.”

“To be sure. So that’s her nephew. I’d forgotten him.”

“What’s wrong with him, Doctor?”

“Can’t say yet. I’ll telephone Miss Ross right away that there’s no immediate danger. Fine woman, Miss Ross.”

“I’m going back there myself, Doctor, so if there is any message—?”

“Can’t say yet, but you might tell her that I will look after him. Knew his father,” said the surgeon, cleaning his glasses and replacing them. “May have to operate. That wound above his ear, you know.”

“That was a rifle bullet. He got shot up North last year.”

“H-u-m-m. Well, we’ll see.”