She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, forced herself by sheer exertion of will into calm. And presently she fell asleep, secure in her resolution. One cannot, unfortunately, altogether eject a lodger from the cells of the brain, however unwelcome that lodger may be, as the Freudian experiences of St. Anthony bear witness. Its presence may be forgotten; it may be lulled into sleep; but no writ of ejection is valid when issued against the brain. Upon the following morning Deming went downtown to take care of some last-minute purchases. He went by street car, since Mrs. Deming had need of the limousine to distribute her quota of egg-nogg and fruit cake. Dorothy was to aid in this laudable task, and Armstrong volunteered to accompany them and to serve as burden-bearer. It was nearly eleven when he helped the chauffeur carry out the baskets and beribboned packages to the car. Dorothy and her mother were already leaving the house. A screech of brakes from the street caused Armstrong to turn. He saw a taxicab dash wildly to the curb before the house, the driver snatching at a greenback extended from the car window. The door flew open, and a figure fairly leaped from the cab and began to run up from the street to the house. "Hey, Jimmy!" shouted Armstrong in astonishment. "Jimmy Wren! Come around to the side!" Wren halted, stared about, changed his direction. Armstrong, here getting his first sight of the man's face, was inexpressibly shocked. Wren was white as a sheet, hollow-eyed, upon his countenance the look of one who has been plunged into some living hell. "Glad to see you, Jimmy!" exclaimed Armstrong, meeting him with extended hand. "But what's the matter with you, old man? Sick?" "Got to see you--quick--alone!" panted Wren. Panic was in his eyes, and fright, as they roved about. For a moment Armstrong thought him drunk. "Brace up," he commanded sharply. "Here's Mrs. Deming--mother, this is my friend Jimmy Wren. You've heard me speak of him--" Wren removed his hat, mumbled something, looked at Dorothy with terrified eyes, and then turned upon Armstrong a glance of terrible and unutterable appeal. "Must see you--quick!" "I'll give up the trip," said Armstrong to Mrs. Deming. "Something must have come up; Wren has news for me. You'll excuse me? Come into the house, Jimmy." They started inside. Dorothy, after a word to her astonished mother, joined them in the doorway. "I'm staying home too,"' she said simply. "Has something happened, Jimmy?" Wren uttered a groan. CHAPTER IX Jimmy Wren refused to utter a word until behind closed doors. Armstrong led him upstairs to the library, while Dorothy, discovering that Wren had eaten nothing since the previous day and had just come in on the morning train, ordered Uncle Neb to fetch something after them. In the library, Armstrong procured a bottle of whisky, poured a stiff drink for Wren, and forced him to swallow it. Dorothy closed the doors.