“The only criticism I made on it, Garner,” spoke up Keith from his bed in the corner, where he lay fully dressed, “is that Wade has ended all of Helen's descriptions by adding, 'and diamonds.' I'll swear I'm no critic of style in writing, but that eternal 'and diamonds, and diamonds, and diamonds,' at the end of every paragraph, sounds so monotonous that it gets funny. He even had Miss Sally Ware's plain black outfit tipped off with 'and diamonds.'” “Well, I look at it this way, Bill,” Wade said, earnestly, as Garner sat down, “Of course, the girls who had them on would not like to see them left out, for they are nice things to have, and, on the other hand, those who were short in that direction would feel sorter out of it.” “I think if he had just written 'jewels' once in awhile,” Keith said, “it would sound all right, and leave something to the imagination.” “That might help,” Garner said, his troubled glance on Carson's rather grave face; “but see that you don't write it 'jewelry.'” “Well, I'll accept the amendment,” Wade said, as he began to scratch his manuscript and rewrite. Carson Dwight stood up. “Did you leave the office open?” he asked Garner. “I've got to shape up that Holcolm deed and consult the records.” “Let it go for a while. I want to look it over first,” Garner said, rather suddenly. “Sit down. I want to talk to you about the--the race. You've got a ticklish proposition before you, old boy, and I'd like to see you put it through.” “Hear, hear!” cried Keith, sitting up on the edge of his bed. “Balls and what girls wear belong to the regular run of life, but when the chief of the gang is about to be beaten by a scoundrel who will hesitate at nothing, it's time to be wide awake.” “That's it,” said Garner, his brow ruffled, his ear open to sounds without, his uneasy eyes on the group around him. And for several minutes he held them where they sat, listening to his wise and observant views of the matter in hand. Suddenly, while he was in the midst of a remark, a foot-fall sounded on the long passage without. It was heavy, loud, and striding. Garner paused, rose, went to the bureau, and from the top drawer took out a revolver he always kept either there or in his desk at the office. There was a firm whiteness about his lips which was new to his friends. “Carson,” he said, “have you got your gun?” and he stood staring at the doorway. A shadow fell on the floor; a man entered. It was Pole Baker, and he looked around him in surprise, his inquiring stare on Garner's unwonted mien and revolver. “Oh, it's you!” Garner exclaimed. “Ah, I thought--” “Yes, I come to tell you that--” Baker hesitated, as if uncertain whether he was betraying confidence, and then catching Garner's warning glance, he said, non-committally: “Say, Bill, that feller you and me was talkin' about has jest gone home. I reckon you won't get yore money out of him to-day.”