Caroline Lockharl has written several novels that sold widely and were appreciated for their insight, character drawing and vitality. Her field is the West of to-day with its vast reaches of mountain, plain and desert, and its people as big hearted and clean as all out-of-doors. No story of hers has achieved greater heights than that which opens in the next POPULAR MAGAZINE, on sale August 7th, entitled: The Man From the Bitter Roots T^WO weeks ago we had something to say about old authors and new ones. We said that we would hold on to the old authors, and print everything they wrote, provided it was worthy of them and of the magazine, and that we would seek out and welcome the new wherever they were to he found. Just by way of making good on the last re- mark, we now announce a new four-part story by a new writer — new at least to the pages of The Popular. The story is called "The Man from the Bitter Roots," and the author is Caroline Lock- hart, author of "Me — Smith," which was a best seller a number of years ago. a a T^HIS new story fell into our hands more or less by accident. It had been written with book publication in mind. Sometimes we go after a thing and get it, and have some little reason, perhaps, for feeling elated over the per- formance, and sometimes, on the other hand, the lesson seems to be brought home to us that there is such a thing as ordinary, old-fashioned, bull luck. The hunter may track the deer all day and fail — only to see the flash of a white tail where he least expected it. The fish- erman may whip a stream for hours with not a bite, and another time a random cast in the unlikeliest pool may bring him the biggest of the season. Being ready and awake to the opportu- nity of course has something to do with it. Vigilance and stubborn optimism under the most unpromising circum- stances are the tributes we must bear if we want the smiles of fortune. We knew enough to read the unpromising- looking stack of battered manuscript when we found it, and to hold on to it after we read it. And now, having given due consideration to these moral maxims and philosophical reflections, we will proceed to weigh the fish, to meas- ure the horns of the buck. » H \ 17 HEN you read "The Man from the Bitter Roots," you will realize that it is one of the best long stories that has ever appeared in this magazine. We say this with consideration, and with the memory of many great stories. If it had been written to our order it could not have met our ideas better, and few stories written to order have ever had so much spirit, atmosphere, and dynamic energy. It is the life story of a strong man. We see him first as a boy with a strong, definite character, struggling in- stinctively with harsh circumstances, a child taking a mad race across thirty miles of prairie only to find his mother on her deathbed. The first chapter of the book is the only one devoted to his boyhood, but in that chapter we can read the character, and something, perhaps, of the future of the man that is to be. We know that he may be killed, but never really defeated. We find him next in a lonely cabin, with a half-mad com- panion working on a mine in the wilder- ness of the Bitter Roots. The same boy grown to be a young man, big and strong, sane and patient and courageous, with the same kindness and tenderness A CHAT WITH YOU— Continued. for dumb animals, the same placid de- termination. The fight that night in the cabin, the death of his companion, the snowstorm that follows and isolates them from all the world are things easy to read but hard to forget. The swift- changing scenes of that night flash vivid and unforgelable like a landscape shown to us by intermittent flares of lightning. The blizzard closes in, and they are alone, apparently separated from all the world, the dead and the living in the little cabin. But other actors in the drama are moving toward them. Across the white ridges of the Bitter Roots a city sportsman, hunting Rocky Moun- tain sheep, his guide, and his Chinese cook are cut off by the storm. To reach the cabin is their only chance, and the guide finally reaches it. These are the opening chapters of the first big install- ment, the opening action that prepares for the drama that is to follow. The city sportsman, the guide who is a great character, even the Chinaman are to play their parts in it. They are little figures brought together in the wilderness of snowy peaks by the hand of fate. Their conflicting characters are to react upon each other in the development of a great story. 'T'HERE are other actors in the drama, *■ other men and women and one girl, of whom we especially like to think as we review the story. We have said enough about it. We don't want to spoil it for you. It happens all in four big dramatic acts, with a number of scenes in each act, and you will have it all in two months. We read so many manu- scripts here that sometimes we think that asking us to read a story as a treat is like trying to be nice to a letter car- rier by taking him out for a good long walk. And yet we think we would like to read "The Man from the Bitter Roots" again. Perhaps we will. 0 a O PEAKING of the older writers, we have all of us remembered happily some of the novels of Fred Beclulolt. He hasn't been in The Popular for some time, but it is not his fault nor ours. Novels such as you are accus- tomed to read in The Popular do not grow overnight in any man's mind. There's another Beclulolt novel, how- ever, full length, to appear complete in the issue of The Popular, out two weeks from to-day. ''Forty Miles from No- where" it is called, and it is a story of the oil business. Wc don't say as much about it as about "The Man from Bitter Roots" not because it isn't worth it, but because you know Bechdolt well, and what to expect from him. Gold and oil are not everything in life, and there are other activities to be read about in the next issue. There is a rousing story of an automobile racer, by Frank Condon; there is a story of the real-estate business by Holworthy Hall ; there fe a story of the egg business by Hamby, who can make even an egg seem romantic; and there is a story of the navy by Clarence Cullen, who knows how to write about the navy partly be- cause he was in it. Only a few of the things in the next number, but surely they are enough to stir your interest just a little. Begin "The Man From Bitter Roots/' by Caroline Lockhart, in the next issue, if you like a story of the present-day West still lull of glamor and lure. VOLUME XXXVII NUMBER 3 m W. H. D. Koerner THE PRODIGAL. A Complete Xovel, . W. B. M. Ferguson . liown and out, the hero ol this story, afler stiuaiulering his patrimony, finds that he has inherited a baseball club, also down and out. "What shall he do with It'.''' is the problem that confronts him. THE COUP. A Short Story W. Douglas Newton Iteing the tale o( an aviator who soars over the field of battle while his passenger marks a chart with colored pencils— a proceeding that irritates the birdman more than the shrapnel bursting about hiin. McHENRY AND DILLINGHAM: ANGELS. A Short Story, Holworthy Hall "NSs^jj Theatrical promoting on a brand new scale, in which "I'epper" needs all his wits. The Editor -i ilil-Kslablished Ruslncss- The THE PROBATION OF P. 0. A Sliort Story, CAUGHT IN THE NET. Editorials, Thrifty America— Social and Individual Klliciency- l'iltsburgh of Africa— The lises of Adversity. INSIDE THE LINES. A Three-Part Story, , Earl Derr Biggers and I'art II. Robert Welles Ritchie A novellzation of the successful play that may be said lo eciual the stage production. IN THIS CORNER A Short Story, H. C. Witwer As told by the manager, the Inside story of this prl/.e light was enough to make your hair curl several times. George Washington Ogden Among the sheep-herders of the West where the graduate-agronomist goes lo get a taste of real life. IT CAN BE DONE. A Short Story, Foxhall Williams . Megrue loved baseball but his affections were divided between putting them over the plate and lilting his elbow In another way. PUPPETS ON A STRING. A Short Story, . . William A. Magill In which money changes hands with bewildering swiftness, and the man who thinks he has it, hasn't. THE QUEER PLACE. A Short Story, Frederick Niven . There was a something about this checker-board that held attention In spite of yourself. A VENTURE IN PRIVATE PRESERVES. A Short Story, Raymond S. Spears Wall Street in the woods experiences a new sort of craft ami graft. THE GIRL FROM NOWHERE. A Short Story, George Woodruff Johnston Suspicion naturally centered upon her when the famous ruby vanished. 84 90 102 106 140 151 176 185 197 206 216 TwIce-a-Month Publication issued by STREET & SMITH. 79-89 Seventh Avenue. New York. OBHOND G. Smith and Geohce C. Smith. Proprietor*. Copyright. 1915. by Street & Smith, New York. Copyright. 1915, by Street & Smith, Great Hritain. Ail relents Reserved. Published everywhere are cautioned against using any of the contents or this Magazine either wholly or in part. Entered at New York Post Office as Second-claas Matter, under Act of CongresB of March 3. 1879. Canadian Subscription, $3.72. Foreign, (4.44. WARNING — 1> Lot subscribe through tcente unknown to juu. Complaints are dellr mule by persons who hare been thus rlctlmlied. tMPORTANT — Authors, agents and publishers are requesle-1 to note that this linn does not hold itself responsible for loss of unsolicited manuscripts while at this office or in transit; and that It cannot undertake to hold uncalled fur manuscripts for a longer period thin But months. If the return of manuscripts Is eipected, postage should be enclosed. EI COWes 15 Cent*- THE NEXT POPULAR ON SALE AUGUST 7th THE POPULAR MAGAZ1XE ADVERTISER CLASSIFIED ADVERTISING Agents & HelpWanted UKS OF IDIOAS and Inventive ability. New list of "Needed Inven- tions," "Patent Uuyers," and "How to< let Your I'atent and Your Money." Randolph & Co., Dept. ftl. Wash., I). (\ 8250 KOR KKIJAHLK MAN Oil WOMAN; distribute 2000 free pack- ages Horax Powder with Soaps, etc., in your town. No money or expe- rience needed. R. Ward Co., 224 InsUtute, Chicago. A* 1 KN'TS -The liieeest Seller Out. Concentrated lieer Tablets. 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IVhUa TaHo v Scnil me your name and addreBB on post card or a letter TV rllC lUUd; f or f ree book on drafting. No obligations. Write today. Chief Draftsman Dobe £r.^Y;i El ' u '''' n ' nt ch'?. 0 ;;.! n .fr.. Amazing Bargain! Genuine Standard Visible Oliver Typewriter — the very latest Model 5, with back spacer, tabulator, color writ- ing-ruling device, disappearing in- dicator. Nothing lacking— metal case, tools, instruction hook. Lite guaran- tee. We have sold 26,000. FREE TRIAL — No Advance Payment Rend a little bit each month until our very small price is paid. No interest- no red tupe. Send for our amazing Bar- tain Offer and FREE Typewriter Book today. No obligation. Typewriters Distributing Syndicate 1 510-31 F Wabash Avenue, Chicago "BATH H01SE 23" "KEEP OIF Our Latest Novelty Hath house in wood veneer with swinging door and brass fas- tener; size - r >xH inches: with the door open you see a beautiful hand colored picture of an ostend bath- ing girl. Comes boxed, prepaid lor 25c to introduce our new catalog of Pictures for The Den, "all win- ners!" Catalog alone 10c. .stamps accepted. CELEBRITY ART CO. 23 Columbus Ave M Boston, Mass. Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements, THE POPULAR MAGAZINE VOL. XXXVII. JULY 23, 1915. No. 3. The Prodigal By W. B. M. Ferguson Author of "A Man's Code," " The Wrong House," etc. This prodigal dissipates a quarter of a million in two years; and when his last cent Is gone and he is headed for the Down-and-Out Club, fate picks him up and makes him Inheritor of one of the strangest legacies we ever heard of. What he does with his strange legacy is the story. It Is a tale of business and sport, with a spice of romance. Among other things, you will be introduced to a baseball diamond and learn how to run a ball team — and how not to. And that Ferguson is qualified to write about baseball you will admit, having In mind his novel, "A Man's Code," published some time ago. {A Complete Novel) CHAPTER I. THE TRIUMVIRATE CELEBRATE AN AUSPICIOUS OCCASION. A TRIO of young men, occupy- ing a conspicuous center table, had become the cynosure of all eyes in fashionable Augerot's cabaret that night, and the climax came when their leader, who looked the youngest of three, insisted upon tak- ing the floor, to the strains of the latest musical hit, and executing prob- ably the most fantastic one-step Broad- way had ever witnessed. He was part- nered by one of his companions, a fat, pink-cheeked gentleman. In the midst of this exhibition the manager appeared, conscious of an un- pleasant duty, and spoke a word in iB private. Whereupon the leader of the triumvirate ceased his terpsichorean efforts, clapped the other familiarly on the back, and then, turning, addressed the assembled company. "Your pardon, ladies and gentle- men. Everybody's pardon," he began, with a most infectious if rather un- steady laugh. "No offense intended, I assure you. My friends and I are merely celebrating a most auspicious occasion, most auspicious, I assure you — a fool and his money being soon parted. Ladies and gentlemen, let us drink to the sentiment." And, heedless of masculine scowls, he raised an empty champagne glass, which' slipped from his grasp and shivered to atoms on the floor. In a far corner a girl was dining 2 THE POPULAtR MAGAZINE alone for the moment, and now, as the triumvirate, shepherded by the diplo- matic manager, made their flowery exit and the commotion died down, she sat staring at the closed door. Her escort joined her presently. "The management should know better than to admit a crowd like that," he exclaimed. "And if it had been any one but that fellow and his friends they'd have been fired out long ago, neck and crop. Lorimer thinks be- cause he has a fool's license he can get away with any nonsense." "Lorimer?" echoed the girl. "Is that his name? I mean the one who made the speech and seemed the leader. Do you know him?" Her companion shrugged. "I know of him, and so would you if you were a New Yorker. He's known from the St. Denis to the Plaza and back again. His wild escapades have been news- paper talk for years." "He didn't look the typical fool," said the girl. "Who were the other two?" "Oh, a couple of the same stripe. The one who looked as if he'd been blown up to eighty pounds' pressure is 'Fatty' Stuveysant; the other, Morti- mer Conyers. He, at least, is old enough to know better. I don't know much about him except that he's a rounder and travels with Lorimer and Stuveysant. Prodigals all ; that's the best you can say of them." "Prodigals all," murmured the girl, a far-away look in her eyes. "And two of them so young!" Meanwhile the triumvirate, home- ward bound, had picked up a mutual friend — Billy Wate, sporting writer on the New York Star — and now, in his bachelor quarters, Lorimer was en- deavoring to explain the evening's en- tertainment. "The grand final blow-out of the season," he grinned. "The triumphant passing of the fool and his money, my friend." "Do you mean that you're ruined?" exclaimed Wate. "Absolutely, my dear boy," put in Stuveysant. "Behold three ruined prodigals! Gaze upon the impressive scene! Of course Conyers was more or less ruined anyway, but it's a new and diverting experience for Rummy Lorimer and me. For, you must know, my dear boy, that I've just completed the 'Circle of Love,' which consists in being kicked out the front door by an irate father, taken in the back door by a doting mother, and kicked out the front door again by the aforesaid father. In other words, my allowance has been amputated at the root, the parental roof has been forbidden me, and, like Hagar of old, I've been cast forth into the wilderness where the Whangdoodle mourneth for his first- born. Hence these tears." And Mr. Stuveysant helped himself to another high ball. "Serves you right," said Billy Wate. "I only wonder the aforesaid parent didn't do it long ago. If you were my child you'd never have had a chance to grow a stomach like that. That facade of yours, Fatty, is an outstand- ing affront to all honest, hard-working citizens and a horrible example to the young." _ He turned with some show of con- cern to Lorimer. "Is it straight goods, Harry? Are you really down and out? A quarter of a million in two years?" "Behold the remains!" Harry Lori- mer turned out his pockets, and flipped some greenbacks on the table. "Bird- seed, that's all. Yes, a quarter of a million in two years. Going some, eh? I never was a piker, Billy." "No," said Wate slowly, "pikers never finish this way. Have you thought of what you'll do?" Lorimer laughed. "No, I haven't THE 3L 7 knowing each other, if he had wished to make us thoroughly dislike each other, he couldn't have hit on a better way than this. It's a wonder to me any lawyer would draw up such a will." "The will, sir, is legal in every re- spect," replied Mr. Owen, with asper- ity. "You'll discover that if you at- tempt to contest it. Your uncle may have been a little eccentric toward the last, but there never was a question of his absolute sanity. A man can dis- pose of his estate as he pleases, sir, and his lawyer isn't responsible for whatever disposition he makes." "I apologize, Mr. Owen, if I sug- gested anything of a personal nature by what I said," remarked Lorimer. "I didn't mean to, I assure you. You must make some allowance for a man who has just lost three hundred thou- sand. As for attempting to break the will, that never entered my head. I think I may be permitted to call i£ ec- centric; but, at all events, I don't at- tempt to question its validity or that obvious truth that my uncle had a per- fect right to do whatever he liked with his money." The approving look deepened in Mr. Owen's shrewd old eyes, and he ap- peared considerably mollified. "This," he said almost kindly, tak- ing a long envelope from a tin deed box, "contains papers relative to the Palestine Baseball Club, the deed to Lorimer Park, and mortgage of same. Also, a communication from your late uncle." Further red tape being wound up satisfactorily, Lorimer shook hands with Mr. Gabriel Owen and took his leave. Some time later, in their suite in the Ten Eyck Hotel, he permanently in- terrupted Messrs Conyers and Stu- veysant's game of pinochle by the ac- count of his visit to the lawyers, the bombshell exploding among this new audience with all the success of its ini- tial effort. "Suffering mackerel!" gasped Stu- veysant, collapsing on the bed. "Why, we're ruined all over again! What are you laughing at, Rummy? Where's the joke?" "Well, what's the use of bleating?" grinned Lorimer. "I've only lost something I never had." "Are you fellows crazy ?" put in Con- yers. "Where does the losing come in ? Don't you as good as get the three hundred thousand if you marry the girl — for she gets the other half? Well, then, what more do you want? Of course your refusal to the lawyer was only a grand-stand play." "Was it?" asked Lorimer. "You've got another think coming, Mort." "Do ySu mean to say you're going to turn it down?" demanded the other in- credulously. "In the name of common sense, why?" "Because I'm not for sale," snapped Lorimer, with his first show of anger. "I may be a waster, but I'm no huck- ster. I won't marry for the sole sake of money, no matter how great the amount or my necessity, and you can paste that in your little brown hat. I don't want any part of my uncle's money under such conditions, and that settles it." "Well, all I can say is that you're a monumental ass," observed Conyers bitterly. Stuveysant, however, had looked his silent approval. "We came up here expecting to fall into a for- tune, and all we get is a ball team that mayn't be worth funeral expenses." "I bet it's worth a fortune," declared Stuveysant confidently. "There's big money in the game, and I know a fel- low that pulled half a million out of it." "He never pulled half a million out of the bushes unless he sunk a couple of million at the start," sneered Con- yers. 8 THE VOVULAtR MAGAZINE While they were arguing this point, a bell boy came in with a letter for Lorimer. It was from Wate, written the previous evening from the Star office, and ran in part as follows: From what I can figure out, your ball team, known to fame as the Invincibles, are a bunch of sand-lotters, and the franchise worth about thirty cents in bad money. They're in the County League, and have finished last for the past three seasons. They're known as the "Cellar Champions" and the "Hashhouse In- vincibles" — from the way they scramble the eggs and spill the beans. It looks to me as if your late uncle were something of a hu- morist, and had left you a fine, juicy lemon to suck. I'll try to run up and look things over, so don't do anything definite till I see you. A harrowing silence succeeded the public reading of this epistle. "Ruined for the third time!" ex- claimed Stuveysant tragically. "Of all the darn, miserable, rotten luck " "I told you so," said Conyers ' in gloomy triumph. "I just knew they'd pan out a bunch of sand-lotters. The Hashhouse Invincibles I How does it feel, Rummy, to be a bloated baseball capitalist " "Oh, forget it !" said Lorimer. "What's the good of croaking? I'm going up to this Holy Land and find out for myself just how bad things are." "If we can even sell the franchise for car fare home," exclaimed Stuveysant hopefully. "Sell it?" sneered Conyers. "Why, you'll have to pay somebody to take it away. A fine, juicy lemon to suck !" CHAPTER III. A VISIT TO THE OFFICE. Palestine proved to be hardly de- serving of the title bestowed on it by Conyers, for it was a thriving, if some- what old-fashioned, town and not with- out some claim to history and distinc- tion. Conyers, however, with that vast contempt of a certain type of New Yorker for anything not daubed with the Broadway brand of paint, affected to sneer at its unmistakable air of rurality evidenced by the long, quiet, shady avenues and wooden houses. Lorimer had engaged rooms in the Empire House, the town's most am- bitious hotel, and he now left Conyers and Stuveysant, and set off for the Palestine Baseball Club, which, he learned, had an office on upper Main Street in a building known iocally as the Lorimer Block. He boarded an uptown trolley, find- ing a place on the back seat beside a gentleman whose general plan of archi- tecture may be best described as "gan- gling." He was big-jointed and loosely packed, with a long, blushing neck like a turkey cock, and an ill- favored jaw that kept munching a wad of gum with irritating persistence. He was evidently something of a local celebrity, for the conductor spoke to him .with familiarity. "Hello, Clark," he was saying. "Anything doing yet? Heard who's got the Invincibles?" "I hear it's the old man's nephew," replied Mr. Clark shortly. "One of these tinhorn sports from New York." "Didn't know he had a nephew," ob- served the conductor. "I s'pose he'll sell the franchise." "Sell it?" laughed the other. "Why, you couldn't give it away. Who's sucker enough to hold the bag?" "Well," said the other defensively, "I heard that Pete Delaney didn't think so worse of it at that." "Piffle! Pete Delaney ain't the kind to ask to have a tin can tied to him. He won't buy the franchise, and the guy who does ought to have his head examined." Lorimer located without difficulty the headquarters of the Palestine Baseball Club in a ground-floor office of the Lorimer Block, a substantial building THE JL 15 stiffly. "I didn't request this interview for that purpose. My real reason for the interview, Mr. Lorimer, was to sug- gest that you not only keep the prop- erty but manage it yourself " "Who? Me?" "Yes, you." Miss Walker folded her hands and looked at him. "I hope you won't think me presumptuous in all this " "Not a bit. I can only thank you and wonder why you've gone to so much trouble — for you must have worked very hard indeed during the past two days to become so well posted. Why are you so keen on my not selling to Delaney?" She met his eyes frankly. "Because, for one reason, I don't like to sit by and see a person robbed, no matter who it is. Mr. Delaney's offer isn't fair at all. He's taking advantage of your ignorance and lack of interest. The po- tential value of the property must be considered as well as the actual, and I believe that potential value to be con- siderable. "Then," she continued slowly, "there is what you might call the sentimental side of the question. Aren't there some tilings, Mr. Lorimer, that can't be meas- ured in dollars and cents? Don't you think it would be a great thing, a very great thing, to try and make the club what it used to be? It seems to me the fight itself would be worth something. You are the last of the Lorimers, and the name for twenty-five years has been identified with the Palestine Baseball Club. "That's how the situation appeals to me, Mr. Lorimer. Of course, it will mean the very hardest kind of work, but then isn't it better to wear out than to rust out? It would be another mat- ter if you couldn't afford the time, but I happen to know that you can. Don't think I'm trying to exaggerate the good points of the proposition and minimize the bad ones. It won't be any tri- umphal march. If you refuse to sell out, you may make enemies. You will have a fight on your hands and plenty of the hardest kind of work. In a word, the situation is crying out for a man; and, from one or two things you said to Mr. Jellibond, I have ventured to think you may be that man, Mr. Lorimer." He was silent, being more stirred by her words than he cared to admit even to himself. "Now," concluded Miss Walker, flushing suddenly, and looking timid, "I've said all that was on my mind, and no doubt I've said quite too much. It was good of you to listen so patiently. I didn't mean to be impudent or pre- sumptuous. Nor do I ask or expect, Mr. Lorimer, that you take my mere word for all this; I only ask that you don't close with Mr. Delaney's offer in a hurry. I ask that you look over the ground carefully and find out these things for yourself." "I thank you for all you've said," exclaimed Lorimer at length. "It's aw- fully good of you, and I appreciate it more than I can say. But there's a vital fact, Miss Walker, which you don't know — nor did my uncle when he left me the property and advised me to hold on to it. At that time — two years ago — I was worth about a quarter of a mil- lion ; to-day I am worth nothing but this baseball property. It isn't that I'm afraid to take a sporting chance, but simply that I haven't any money to risk. I haven't a blessed cent. The truth is," he finished, "I've been all kinds of a fool. I didn't lose my money ; I threw it away " "I know that," said the girl calmly. "This morning wasn't the first time I saw you, Mr. Lorimer. I've seen you before." He stared. "Where? When?" "Why, the other evening. You made a little speech, I remember." Lorimer colored hotly and turned em- 16 THE POPULAR MAGAZINE barrassed eyes to the window. So she had been dining that evening in Au- gerot's. She had actually seen him in the role of prodigal and buffoon. He writhed inwardly at memory of the "au- spicious occasion" and his stupid, silly speech. "You said, on that occasion, you were celebrating the event of a fool and his money being soon parted," added Miss Walker, "so what I know hasn't been learned from any gossip that may be making the rounds of Palestine. My escort, that night, is a New Yorker if I'm not, and he told me something about you and your friends." "That wouldn't be hard, I imagine," said Lorimer, with a shrug. "The New York papers seem to know more about me than I do myself. I've been no saint," he added, with a touch of bit- terness, "but they've credited me with many things I never did — not that it matters in the least, of course. They can make all the copy out of it they want to; it's a matter of perfect indif- ference to me." "Is it?" asked Miss Walker. She was tapping her teeth with a pencil and looking fixedly at his profile as he stood with half-averted head against the light. It was a face that held more than a hint of latent strength and power, a face both the masculine and feminine world instinctively liked. ''Is it?" she repeated. "Do you hon- estly think reputations don't count for anything? It seems to me they must be worth something when they are so difficult to win and so easy to lose." "I hope you're not trying to read me a sermon," said Lorimer. "You don't strike me as being one of those foolish people who choose to believe a person does wrong because he doesn't know any better." "Oh, dear, no," laughed Miss Walker. "Sermons are quite out of my line. Be- sides, they're awfully tedious, and I've quite enough to do with the beams in my own eye; I wouldn't dream of ex- perimenting with other people's motes. I only venture to throw out, as a sort of general remark, neither new or di- verting, that reputations are worth something, after all, and that, if they happen to be lost, why, one can happen to find them again. Also that hard work seems the best cure for boredom. Have you ever tried it, Mr. Lorimer?" He turned and looked at her. "Miss Walker, you know me for what I am — a prodigal and ne'er-do-well. I've dissipated a quarter of a million in two years; that is my record. You knew it, it seems, when you asked for this interview. You ask me now to keep the property and even manage it myself, yet say the situation is crying out for a man. Have you the smallest reason for thinking me that man? Doesn't all you know about me give the flat lie to that? Come, be honest with me. What is the real reason you don't wish me to sell out? You are clever — I've discovered that — but I'm not quite a fool, you know." "If you were," said Miss Walker tartly, as she put away the carbon paper and began tidying up, "this interview wouldn't have taken place, Mr. Lorimer. It's because I don't think you a fool, no matter how successfully you may have played it, that I've ventured to say what I have. "You say I know you're a prodigal and ne'er-do-well, but I don't know any- thing of the kind. I know you were, but we aren't to-day nor to-morrow what we were yesterday. Life doesn't stand still like that, and we have the daily choice of going forward or back- ward. You can't remain merely a prod- igal, Mr. Lorimer, even if you want to ; prodigals either reform or end in jail — if they don't blow their brains out. "Of course, it's absolutely none of my business," she finished, "but, all the same, I think it a burning shame if a man of your years and evident educa- THE c r x R0ULA