The George Barr McCutcheon MEGAPACK ®. George Barr McCutcheon

that if he was to be denied the privilege of spending money for several weeks, he would at least make his illness as expensive as possible. A consultation of eminent surgeons was called, but true to his colors, Brewster installed Dr. Lotless, a “Little Son,” as his house surgeon. Monty grimly bore the pain and suffering and submitted to the operation which alone could save his life. Then came the struggle, then the promise of victory and then the quiet days of convalescence. In the little room where he had dreamed his boyish dreams and suffered his boyish sorrows, he struggled against death and gradually emerged from the mists of lassitude. He found it harder than he had thought to come back to life. The burden of it all seemed heavy. The trained nurses found that some more powerful stimulant than the medicine was needed to awaken his ambition, and they discovered it at last in Peggy.

      “Child,” he said to her the first time she was permitted to see him, and his eyes had lights in them: “do you know, this isn’t such a bad old world after all. Sometimes as I’ve lain here, it has looked twisted and queer. But there are things that straighten it out. Today I feel as though I had a place in it—as though I could fight things and win out. What do you think, Peggy? Do you suppose there is something that I could do? You know what I mean—something that some one else would not do a thousand times better.”

      But Peggy, to whom this chastened mood in Monty was infinitely pathetic, would not let him talk. She soothed him and cheered him and touched his hair with her cool hands. And then she left him to think and brood and dream.

      It was many days before his turbulent mind drifted to the subject of money, but suddenly he found himself hoping that the surgeons would be generous with their charges. He almost suffered a relapse when Lotless, visibly distressed, informed him that the total amount would reach three thousand dollars.

      “And what is the additional charge for the operation?” asked Monty, unwilling to accept such unwarranted favors.

      “It’s included in the three thousand,” said Lotless. “They knew you were my friend and it was professional etiquette to help keep down expenses.”

      For days Brewster remained at Mrs. Gray’s, happy in its restfulness, serene under the charm of Peggy’s presence, and satisfied to be hopelessly behind in his daily expense account. The interest shown by the inquiries at the house and the anxiety of his friends were soothing to the profligate. It gave him back a little of his lost self-respect. The doctors finally decided that he would best recuperate in Florida, and advised a month at least in the warmth. He leaped at the proposition, but took the law into his own hands by ordering General Manager Harrison to rent a place, and insisting that he needed the companionship of Peggy and Mrs. Gray.

      “How soon can I get back to work, Doctor?” demanded Monty, the day before the special train was to carry him south. He was beginning to see the dark side of this enforced idleness. His blood again was tingling with the desire to be back in the harness of a spendthrift.

      “To work?” laughed the physician. “And what is your occupation, pray?”

      “Making other people rich,” responded Brewster, soberly.

      “Well, aren’t you satisfied with what you have done for me? If you are as charitable as that you must be still pretty sick. Be careful, and you may be on your feet again in five or six weeks.”

      Harrison came in as Lotless left. Peggy smiled at him from the window. She had been reading aloud from a novel so garrulous that it fairly cried aloud for interruptions.

      “Now, Nopper, what became of the ball I was going to give?” demanded Monty, a troubled look in his eyes.

      “Why, we called it off,” said “Nopper,” in surprise.

      “Don’t you remember, Monty?” asked Peggy, looking up quickly, and wondering if his mind had gone trailing off.

      “I know we didn’t give it, of course; but what date did you hit upon?”

      “We didn’t postpone it at all,” said “Nopper.” “How could we? We didn’t know whether—I mean it wouldn’t have been quite right to do that sort of thing.”

      “I understand. Well, what has become of the orchestra, and the flowers, and all that?”

      “The orchestra is gallivanting around the country, quarreling with itself and everybody else, and driving poor Gardner to the insane asylum. The flowers have lost their bloom long ago.”

      “Well, we’ll get together, Nopper, and try to have the ball at mid-Lent. I think I’ll be well by that time.”

      Peggy looked appealingly at Harrison for guidance, but to him silence seemed the better part of valor, and he went off wondering if the illness had completely carried away Monty’s reason.

      CHAPTER XVI

      IN THE SUNNY SOUTH

      It was the cottage of a New York millionaire which had fallen to Brewster. The owner had, for the time, preferred Italy to St. Augustine, and left his estate, which was well located and lavishly equipped, in the hands of his friends. Brewster’s lease covered three months, at a fabulous rate per month. With Joe Bragdon installed as manager-in-chief, his establishment was transferred bodily from New York, and the rooms were soon as comfortable as their grandeur would permit. Brewster was not allowed to take advantage of his horses and the new automobile which preceded him from New York, but to his guests they offered unlimited opportunities. “Nopper” Harrison had remained in the north to renew arrangements for the now hated ball and to look after the advance details of the yacht cruise. Dr. Lotless and his sister, with “Subway” Smith and the Grays, made up Brewster’s party. Lotless dampened Monty’s spirits by relentlessly putting him on rigid diet, with most discouraging restrictions upon his conduct. The period of convalescence was to be an exceedingly trying one for the invalid. At first he was kept in-doors, and the hours were whiled away by playing cards. But Monty considered “bridge” the “pons asinorum,” and preferred to play piquet with Peggy. It was one of these games that the girl interrupted with a question that had troubled her for many days. “Monty,” she said, and she found it much more difficult than when she had rehearsed the scene in the silence of her walks; “I’ve heard a rumor that Miss Drew and her mother have taken rooms at the hotel. Wouldn’t it be pleasanter to have them here?”

      A heavy gloom settled upon Brewster’s face, and the girl’s heart dropped like lead. She had puzzled over the estrangement, and wondered if by any effort of her own things could be set right. At times she had had flashing hopes that it did not mean as much to Monty as she had thought. But down underneath, the fear that he was unhappy seemed the only certain thing in life. She felt that she must make sure. And together with the very human desire to know the worst, was the puritanical impulse to bring it about.

      “You forget that this is the last place they would care to invade.” And in Brewster’s face Peggy seemed to read that for her martyrdom was the only wear. Bravely she put it on.

      “Monty, I forget nothing that I really know. But this is a case in which you are quite wrong. Where is your sporting blood? You have never fought a losing fight before, and you can’t do it now. You have lost your nerve, Monty. Don’t you see that this is the time for an aggressive campaign?” Somehow she was not saying things at all as she had planned to say them. And his gloom weighed heavily upon her. “You don’t mind, do you, Monty,” she added, more softly, “this sort of thing from me? I know I ought not to interfere, but I’ve known you so long. And I hate to see things twisted by a very little mistake.”

      But Monty did mind enormously. He had no desire to talk about the thing anyway, and Peggy’s anxiety to marry him off seemed a bit unnecessary. Manifestly her own interest in him was of the coldest. From out of the gloom he looked at her somewhat sullenly. For the moment she was thinking only of his pain, and her face said nothing.

      “Peggy,” he exclaimed, finally, resenting the necessity of answering her, “you don’t in the least know what you are talking about. It is not a fit of anger on Barbara Drew’s part. It is a serious conviction.”

      “A conviction which can be changed,” the girl broke