It was two o'clock in the afternoon. Simpson Street was quiet after the brisk business of the morning. The air quivered up from the pavement in the still heat. The occasional people about the street moved slowly. The collars of the few visible tradesmen were soft rags around their necks and they mopped red faces with saturated handkerchiefs. The morning breeze had died; the afternoon breeze would drift in at four o'clock or so; until which time Sunbury ladies took their naps and Sunbury business men dozed at their desks. Saturday closing had not made much headway at this period, though the still novel game of golf was beginning to work its mighty change in small-town life. Through this calm scene, absorbed in their affairs, unaware of the heat, strode Humphrey and Henry--down past the long hotel veranda, where the yellow rocking chairs stood in endless empty rows, past Swanson's and Donovan's and Jackson's book store to the meat market and then, rapidly, up the long stairway. They found McGibbon with his long legs stretched out under his desk, hands deep in pockets, thin face lined and weary, but eyes nervously bright as always. He was in his shirt-sleeves, of course. His drab brown hair seemed a little longer and even more ragged than usual where it met his wilted collar. But he grinned at them, and waved a long hand. 'My God!' he cried, 'but it's good to see a human face. Look!' His hand swept around, indicating the dusty, deserted desks and the open press-room door. It was still out there; not a man hummed or whistled as he clicked type into his stick, not one of the four job presses rumbled out its cheerful drone of industry. 'Rats all gone!' McGibbon added. 'But the Caliph was up again.' 'Yes,' Henry, who found himself suddenly and deeply moved, breathed softly, 'we know.' 'Came up a hundred. He'll pay six hundred now. For all this. An actual investment of more'n four thousand.' The hand waved again. 'It's amusing. He doesn't know I'm on to him. You see the old fox's been nosing around to get up a petition to throw me into involuntary bankruptcy, but he can't find any creditors. Has to be five hundred dollars, you know.' 'What did you say to him?' asked Humphrey, thoughtfully. 'Showed him out. Second time to-day. It was a hard climb for him, too. He did puff some.' Humphrey slowly drew a large envelope from an inner pocket and laid it on the table at his elbow. McGibbon eyed it alertly. 'Here!' he said, his hand moving up toward the row of four or five cigars that projected from a vest pocket, 'smoke up, you fellows.' Henry shook his head. Humphrey drew out his pipe; then raised his head, and said quietly:-- 'Listen!' There came the unmistakable sound of heavy feet on the stairs. Steadily, step by step, a slowly moving body mounted.