Under Handicap. Jackson Gregory

is William Conniston, Senior. Maybe you have heard of him?"

      He was proud to be his father's son, to have his own name so intimately connected with that of a man who was not only a millionaire many times over, but who was a power in Wall Street and known as such to the four ends of the earth.

      "Yes. I have heard of him. He made his own money, didn't he? In the West, too."

      "Yes. A mining expert in the beginning, I believe, and a mine-owner in the end. Oh, the governor knows how to make the dollars grow, all right!"

      Again she made no answer. But after a little she said: "If you wish to wire to your father for money"—and there was just the faintest note of scorn in her voice—"you needn't wait until you get to Crawfordsville. We have a telephone, and you can telephone your message from here."

      "Good!" cried Hapgood, eagerly. "Better do that—and right away, Greek. There's no use losing time."

      Conniston thanked her, and a moment later, they rose from the table and stepped to the telephone, which she showed to him in a little library. When he got Central in Crawfordsville Miss Crawford told the girl for him to charge all costs to her father and that Mr. Conniston would pay here for the service. So she took his message and telephoned it to the Western Union office.

      "You will rush it, will you, please?" asked Conniston.

      "Certainly. And the answer? Shall we telephone it out to you?"

      "No. We'll be in Crawfordsville, and—Wait a moment." To Miss Crawford: "We may stay here until evening?"

      "Oh, you must. It is too hot now to think of riding."

      "Thank you." And then into the receiver: "If you should get an answer before seven o'clock, please telephone it to me here."

      Then the three went out to the front porch. They found chairs in the shade where a welcome little breeze made for cool comfort. Miss Crawford sat with the men, answering their questions about that wild country, chatting with them. And there, at her invitation, they sat and smoked when she left them and went into the house.

      "A charming girl," Hapgood was moved to say enthusiastically. "Really a charming girl! Who would have thought to find her out here? And say, Greek"—being confidentially nearer—"her old man must be tremendously rich, eh? You don't need to think of such things, of course, but take me—" He paused, and then continued, thoughtfully: "Sooner or later, old man, it's got to come to one end for Roger Hapgood. And, do you know, I'm half in love with her already?"

      His verbal enthusiasm in no way imparted itself to young Conniston. So Roger puffed complacently at his cigarette in thoughtful silence, rather more than usually well pleased with himself.

      The late afternoon drew on, and the girl had not returned to them. Conniston looked at his watch and saw that it was half-past five. They would have to leave within an hour and a half; they could not impose longer than that. He was hoping that she would spend at least the last half-hour with them when he heard the door open and looked up quickly, thinking she was coming. It was the Japanese boy, bowing and smiling.

      "Most honorable sir," looking doubtfully from one of them to the other, "the telephone would speak with you."

      Conniston sprang to his feet. Hapgood smiled his satisfaction. "The old gent is as prompt as the very deuce, God bless him!"

      Conniston hurried after the boy into the house, leaving Hapgood beaming.

      "Mr. Conniston?" the telephone-girl was asking.

      "Yes, I'm Conniston. You have the answer?"

      "Yes. Shall I read it to you?"

      "Please."

      "It's rather long," she laughed into the telephone. "But it's paid. It runs: