youth, Harold cried out for sympathy: Can I come over tonight?
Sorry, old man, Paul answered; it's quite impossible. I have a rendezvous in a doss-house with my aged grandmother.
Realizing that he had made a mistake, Harold mumbled a good-bye. Tears streamed out of the corners of his eyes. He felt more alone, more miserable than ever. At this moment, he would have been glad to see even Drains. He tried to read, but nothing held his interest. At last, he got up and walked about, his restlessness increasing as he fed it. Suddenly his eye fell on a carafe, half-full of brandy, standing on the side-board. Grasping it, he poured out enough to fill a wineglass, and, with much gulping, he contrived to swallow the burning fluid. Then and then only was he able to fall asleep.
The answer to his letter was delivered by messenger in the afternoon. The envelope, he noted, was addressed in a different hand from that which had penned the envelope containing the hundred dollar bill. Still it must be . . . He tore it open. His own note, the top of the envelope neatly slit, tumbled out first. Then a letter:
Sir:—
My daughter has informed me of the manner in which you have become implicated in her affairs. I take this occasion to thank you for your assistance, if you have given