Edith rose, and, going up to her husband, put the check in his hand.

"Here, Donald," she said. "I hope this will fix everything all right.

If it does, it will make me very happy."

"Thank you, Edith," he remarked simply, putting the check in his pocket.

"I shall never forget this,--never. You have been very good to me. I only hope I shall not have to keep it long."

"Don't thank me, Donald. Just consider it a little loan from a dear friend." He put his arm about her, and drew her to him. "G.o.d bless you, dear, you and poor old Billy. How I wish he were here to enjoy it all."

He kissed her lovingly, then started in surprise. "Why, Edith, you are crying," he exclaimed. "What's the matter, dear? There's nothing wrong, is there?" He smoothed back the hair from her forehead tenderly.

"Nothing," she cried, as she escaped from his embrace, and, going over to the desk, put the check-book back into the drawer, which she locked.

As she did so, they both turned at the sound of someone descending the stairs. It was Hall.

"h.e.l.lo, Hall! Glad to see you." Donald went up to their guest with outstretched hand.

"Rogers!" exclaimed the latter, shaking Donald's hand vigorously. "You look just the same as you did back in ninety-five. How are you?"

"Pretty well. How are things in the West?"

"Oh, about as usual--too much politics, and not enough rain."

Donald laughed.

"Sit down, Mr. Hall," said Edith. "I must go and see to dinner. I'll be back presently." She started toward the door.

"I hope you are not making any extra preparation on my account," Hall exclaimed.

"Oh--no--nothing unusual," Edith laughed. "We are going to treat you as one of the family."

"That will make a hit with me, Mrs. Rogers," said Hall, joining in her laugh.

"I thought it would," she cried, as she left the room.

"How would a high-ball strike you, eh?" asked Donald.

"Right where I live."

Donald led the way to the veranda. "Suppose we sit out here. It's a bit cooler, I think. There's some whiskey on the table."

"All the comforts of home, I see. Nice place you've got here, Rogers."

He seated himself comfortably in a wicker lounging chair.

"Yes, very." Donald's voice had a peculiar note--he felt the irony of the situation. "Shall I pour you out a drink?" he asked, going to the table.

"Thanks, old man. Here's to you!" Hall raised his gla.s.s. "Nothing like the seash.o.r.e, after all, in the summer for health and happiness. How's your little boy?"

"Great. Growing like a weed." Donald took a chair opposite his guest and drew a cigar-case from his pocket. "Have a cigar?"

"No, thanks; not before dinner. I'll light a cigarette, though, if you don't mind." He took out a box of cigarettes and offered it to his host.

"Have one?"

"Thanks." Donald put his cigar-case back into his pocket, and took a cigarette. "I understand," he said, "that you are with the Pioneer Construction Company of Chicago."

"Yes. I've been with them for several years. Made me chief engineer last year."

"Good work! Ought to be a splendid job. Keeps you moving about a good deal, though, doesn't it?"

"Yes. More than I like. I've pretty well covered the West, this past year. Meet a lot of Columbia men, off and on. I like 'Frisco. Wonderful place. Dennett, ninety-six, is in business there. You knew him, didn't you?"

"Slightly. He was in the cla.s.s below me."

"And Walker, ninety-five. Remember him?"

"Tall fellow? Wears gla.s.ses? Yes, I remember him. Very bright man. How long did you stay in 'Frisco?"

"Two months. Finished up a job in Denver before that."

"Denver? That's where poor Billy West died. He was a ninety-five man.

You knew him, didn't you?"

"Slightly. Great friend of yours, wasn't he?"

"Yes, I thought everything of him. His death was a terrible shock."

"So sudden, too. He was ill only a few days. Appendicitis, they told me."

"Yes. He died right after the operation."

"I was in Denver at the time; but I didn't think to look him up. Didn't even know he was sick until I got your telegram."

"My telegram?" Donald looked at his guest in sudden surprise.

"Well, perhaps not yours, exactly. Miss Pope wired me that he was sick, and asked me to find out how he was. I supposed it was on your account."

"Miss Pope?"

"Yes. Your sister-in-law."

Donald's surprise and confusion were painfully evident. "I--I--don't understand why she should have wired. I didn't even know he was sick, myself."

"_She_ must have known it," replied Hall, a trifle uneasily. "I went to the hospital at once. They told me he had been dead several days."

"Strange," muttered Donald. "I can't see why she should have wired."

"Perhaps Mrs. Rogers asked her to do so. She didn't know me, herself, you know."

"You went to the hospital, you say?"