gether since the War—and had fought together political battles and financial ones. It had been stimulating—exciting. Almost as thrilling, young Meriweather thought, as the Marne and some moments in the Argonne.
He picked up his pencil. Louis Carew was dictating an important paper. They had worked on it for several mornings. While he dictated, Carew would drink cup after cup of strong coffee, with toast and bacon. The secretary breakfasted early, with a ride before his work began. Today he would have another ride after lunch, and then type the matter which Carew had dictated. He and Carew would dine with the Hulburts—a mile or two away—and would come back and work until long after midnight.
The girl was ascending the hill. The sun shone full upon her. She walked lightly, with her head well up. Once she stopped to take off her heavy cape. Then she came on, all in black with her black bag.
"I can't see," Carew said with irritation, "why any one would come as far as this on the chance of selling books."
"They know you are big game if they can get you."
"Not so big as some of them think, if they knew my debts."
"But they don't. And they won't if I can help it. We've got to pull you out."
"I'd get in again."
Meriweather laughed. "I'm not so pessimistic."
Downstairs the bell rang. "There she is," Carew ejaculated.