The George Barr McCutcheon MEGAPACK ®. George Barr McCutcheon

was fraught with purpose. Monty glanced around the room, uncertain how to begin. It was not so easy as he had imagined.

      “You are very good to see me,” he said at last. “It was absolutely necessary for me to talk to you this evening; I could not have endured the suspense any longer. Barbara, I’ve spent three or four sleepless nights on your account. Will it spoil your evening if I tell you in plain words what you already know? It won’t bother you, will it?” he floundered.

      “What do you mean, Monty?” she begged, purposely dense, and with wonderful control of her eyes.

      “I love you, Babs,” he cried. “I thought you knew about it all along or I should have told you before. That’s why I haven’t slept. The fear that you may not care for me has driven me nearly to distraction. It couldn’t go on any longer. I must know today.”

      There was a gleam in his eyes that made her pose of indifference difficult; the fervor of his half-whispered words took possession of her. She had expected sentiment of such a different character that his frank confession disarmed her completely. Beneath his ardent, abrupt plea there was assurance, the confidence of one who is not to be denied. It was not what he said, but the way he said it. A wave of exultation swept over her, tingling through every nerve. Under the spell her resolution to dally lightly with his emotion suffered a check that almost brought ignominious surrender. Both of her hands were clasped in his when he exultingly resumed the charge against her heart, but she was rapidly regaining control of her emotions and he did not know that he was losing ground with each step he took forward. Barbara Drew loved Brewster, but she was going to make him pay dearly for the brief lapse her composure had experienced. When next she spoke she was again the Miss Drew who had been trained in the ways of the world, and not the young girl in love.

      “I care for you a great deal, Monty,” she said, “but I’m wondering whether I care enough to—to marry you.”

      “We haven’t known each other very long, Babs,” he said, tenderly, “but I think we know each other well enough to be beyond wondering.”

      “It is like you to manage the whole thing,” she said, chidingly. “Can’t you give me time to convince myself that I love you as you would like, and as I must love if I expect to be happy with the man I marry?”

      “I forgot myself,” he said, humbly.

      “You forgot me,” she protested, gently, touched by this sign of contrition. “I do care for you, Monty, but don’t you see it’s no little thing you ask of me? I must be sure—very sure—before I—before—”

      “Don’t be so distressed,” he pleaded. “You will love me, I know, because you love me now. This means much to me, but it means more to you. You are the woman and you are the one whose happiness should be considered. I can live only in the hope that when I come to you again with this same story and this same question you’ll not be afraid to trust yourself to me.”

      “You deserve to be happy for that, Monty,” she said, earnestly, and it was with difficulty that she kept her eyes from wavering as they looked into his.

      “You will let me try to make you love me?” he asked, eagerly.

      “I may not be worth the struggle.”

      “I’ll take that chance,” he replied.

      She was conscious of disappointment after he was gone. He had not pleaded as ardently as she had expected and desired, and, try as she would, she could not banish the touch of irritation that had come to haunt her for the night.

      Brewster walked to the club, elated that he had at least made a beginning. His position was now clear. Besides losing a fortune he must win Barbara in open competition.

      At the theater that evening he met Harrison, who was in a state of jubilation.

      “Where did you get that tip?” asked he.

      “Tip? What tip?” from Brewster.

      “On the prize-fight?”

      Brewster’s face fell and something cold crept over him.

      “How did—what was the result?” he asked, sure of the answer.

      “Haven’t you heard? Your man knocked him out in the fifth round—surprised everybody.”

      CHAPTER X

      NAPOLEON OF FINANCE

      The next two months were busy ones for Brewster. Miss Drew saw him quite as often as before the important interview, but he was always a puzzle to her.

      “His attitude is changed somehow,” she thought to herself, and then she remembered that “a man who wins a girl after an ardent suit is often like one who runs after a street car and then sits down to read his paper.”

      In truth after the first few days Monty seemed to have forgotten his competitors, and was resting in the consciousness of his assured position. Each day he sent her flowers and considered that he had more than done his duty. He used no small part of his income on the flowers, but in this case his mission was almost forgotten in his love for Barbara.

      Monty’s attitude was not due to any wanting of his affection, but to the very unromantic business in which he was engaged. It seemed to him that, plan as he might, he could not devise fresh ways and means to earn $16,000 a day. He was still comfortably ahead in the race, but a famine in opportunities was not far remote. Ten big dinner parties and a string of elaborate after-the-play suppers maintained a fair but insufficient average, and he could see that the time was ripe for radical measures. He could not go on forever with his dinners. People were already beginning to refer to the fact that he was warming his toes on the Social Register, and he had no desire to become the laughing stock of the town. The few slighting, sarcastic remarks about his business ability, chiefly by women and therefore reflected from the men, hurt him. Miss Drew’s apparently harmless taunt and Mrs. Dan’s open criticism told plainly enough how the wind was blowing, but it was Peggy’s gentle questions that cut the deepest. There was such honest concern in her voice that he could see how his profligacy was troubling her and Mrs. Gray. In their eyes, more than in the others, he felt ashamed and humiliated. Finally, goaded by the remark of a bank director which he overheard, “Edwin P. Brewster is turning handsprings in his grave over the way he is going it,” Monty resolved to redeem himself in the eyes of his critics. He would show them that his brain was not wholly given over to frivolity.

      With this project in mind he decided to cause a little excitement in Wall Street. For some days he stealthily watched the stock market and plied his friends with questions about values. Constant reading and observation finally convinced him that Lumber and Fuel Common was the one stock in which he could safely plunge. Casting aside all apprehension, so far as Swearengen Jones was concerned, he prepared for what was to be his one and only venture on the Stock Exchange before the 23d of the following September. With all the cunning and craftiness of a general he laid his plans for the attack. Gardner’s face was the picture of despair when Brewster asked him to buy heavily in Lumber and Fuel.

      “Good heavens, Monty,” cried the broker, “you’re joking. Lumber is away up now. It can’t possibly go a fraction of a point higher. Take my advice and don’t touch it. It opened today at 111 3/4 and closed at 109. Why, man, you’re crazy to think about it for an instant.”

      “I know my business, Gardner,” said Brewster, quietly, and his conscience smote him when he saw the flush of mortification creep into the face of his friend. The rebuke had cut Gardner to the quick.

      “But, Monty, I know what I’m talking about. At least let me tell you something about this stock,” pleaded Elon, loyally, despite the wound.

      “Gardy, I’ve gone into this thing carefully, and if ever a man felt sure about anything I do about this,” said Monty, decidedly, but affectionately.

      “Take my word for it Lumber can’t go any higher. Think of the situation; the lumber men in the north and west are overstocked, and there is a strike ready to go into effect. When that comes the stock will go for a song. The slump is liable to begin any