"Well," said Barclay, turning toward his visitor brusquely, "why won't you renew that accommodation paper for me again?" The Papins and the Dulangpres shrugged their shoulders and waved their hands through Brownwell rather nastily as he answered, "Circumstances, Mr. Barclay, circumstances!" "You're not getting along fast enough, eh?" retorted Barclay. "Yes--and no," returned Brownwell. "What do you mean?" asked Barclay, half divining the truth. "Well--it is after all our own affair--but since you are a friend I will say this: three times a week--sometimes four times a week I go out to pay my respects. Until November I stayed until nine, at Christmas we put on another hour; now it is ten-thirty. I am a man, John Barclay--as you see. She--she is an angel. Very good. In that way, yes. But," the Papins and Dulangpres came back to his face, and he shook his head. "But otherwise--no. There we stand still. She will not say it." Barclay squinted at the man who sat so complacently in the glow of the firelight, with his cane between his toes and his gloves lightly fanning the air. "So I take it," said John, "that you are like the Memorial Day parade, several hours passing a given point!" "Exactly," smiled back Brownwell. He drew from his pocket a diamond ring. "She will look at it; she will admire it. She will put it on a chain, but she will not wear it. And so I say, why should I put my head in a noose here in your bank--what's the use? No, sir, John Barclay--no, sir. I'm done, sir." Barclay knew wheedling would not move Brownwell. He was of the mulish temperament. So Barclay stretched out in his chair, locked his hands back of his head, and looked at the ceiling through his eyelashes. After a silence he addressed the cobwebs above him: "Supposing the case. Would a letter from me to you, setting forth the desperate need of this accommodation paper, not especially for me, but for Colonel Culpepper's fortunes and the good name of the Hendricks family--would that help your cause--a letter that you could show; a letter," Barclay said slowly, "asking for this accommodation; a letter that you could show to--to--well, to the proper parties, let us say, to-night; would--that kind of a letter help--" Barclay rose suddenly to an upright position and went on: "Say, Mr. Man, that ought to pretty nearly fix it. Let's leave both matters open, say for two hours, and then at ten o'clock or so--you come back here, and I'll have the note for you to sign--if you care to. How's that?" he asked as he turned to his desk and reached for a pen. "Well," replied Brownwell, "I am willing to try." And so Barclay sat writing for five minutes, while the glow of the flames died down, and the shadows ceased fighting and were still.