The drooping lips straightened and a shrewd, searching glance shot from Arthur Breen's eyes. There was a brain behind this sleepy face--as many of his competitors knew. It was not always in working order, but when it was the man became another personality. “Jack--” The voice was now as thin as the drawn lips permitted, with caution in every tone, “you stop short off. You mustn't cotton to everybody you pick up in New York--it won't do. Get you into trouble. Don't bring him here; your aunt won't like it. When you get into a hole with a fellow and can't help yourself, take him to the club. That's one of the things I got you into the Magnolia for; but don't ever bring 'em here.” “But he's a personal friend of Mr. Morris, and a friend of another friend of Mr. Morris's they called 'Major.'” It was not the first time he had heard such inhospitable suggestions from his uncle. “Oh, yes, I know; they've all got some old retainers hanging on that they give a square meal to once a year, but don't you get mixed up with 'em.” Parkins had returned by this time and was pouring a fresh cup of coffee. “Now, Parkins, that's something like--No, I don't want any kidneys--I don't want any toast--I don't want anything, Parkins--haven't I told you so?” “Yes, sir; thank you sir.” “Black coffee is the only thing that'll settle this head. What you want to do, Jack, is to send that old fossil word that you've got another engagement, and... Parkins, is there anything going on here to-night?” “Yes, sir; Miss Corinne is giving a small dance.” “There, Jack--that's it. That'll let you out with a whole skin.” “No, I can't, and I won't, Uncle Arthur,” he answered in an indignant tone. “If you knew him as I do, and had seen him last night, you would--” “No, I don't want to know him and I don't want to see him. You are all balled up, I see, and can't work loose, but take him upstairs; don't let your aunt come across him or she'll have a fit.” Here he glanced at the bronze clock. “What!--ten minutes past nine! Parkins, see if my cab is at the door.... Jack, you ride down with me. I walked when I was your age, and got up at daylight. Some difference, Jack, isn't there, whether you've got a rich uncle to look after you or not.” This last came with a wink. It was only one of his pleasantries. He knew he was not rich; not in the accepted sense. He might be a small star in the myriads forming the Milky-Way of Finance, but there were planets millions of miles beyond him, whose brilliancy he was sure he could never equal. The fact was that the money which he had accumulated had been so much greater sum than he had ever hoped for when he was a boy in a Western State--his father went to Iowa in '49--and the changes in his finances had come with such lightning rapidity (half a million made on a tip given him by a friend, followed by other tips more or less profitable) that he loved to pat his pride, so to speak, in speeches like this.