The assistant bookkeeper had smiled ruefully, rubbing the fingers together. “Of course, I’ve never seen him before,” he said respectfully, “but if I know a man that ’s pretty near frazzled out--he ’s the man. There’s nothing to him but a blaze.” “You don’t know him,” said the manager brusquely. He took a sealed envelope from the desk and held it out.... “When you report again, we want the names of all parties shipping, with rates--and rebates,” he added significantly. “This won’t do, you know.” He tapped the report that had cost the assistant bookkeeper many anxious hours--lightly with his finger. The bookkeeper, whose hand almost of itself had reached out for the envelope, hesitated a little. “I don’t know that I shall stay with the ’R. and Q.,’” he said softly. “Don’t you!” The manager’s keen eyes read his little soul through--and smiled. “You have n’t any particular position in mind where you can draw a better salary for keeping one set of books, have you!” “I don’t know that I have--just now.” The tone was defiant--but wobbly. “All right, stay where you are. You won’t do better. Take my advice. You ’re getting along all right.” The assistant bookkeeper glanced again at the envelope--and took it. “You better see Tetlow, yourself,” he said as he went out. The manager nodded. “You ’re all right,” he repeated. “Harrington will bear watching,” he said to the division superintendent. “I don’t trust him.” “Don’t trust anybody,” said the superintendent. “You won’t get fooled.” “I wish I knew the truth about Sim Tetlow,” went on the other. “It would be just like him to pretend he was a wreck, and then spring on us and paw us all over while we ’re getting ready to squeeze him.... You can’t trust Harrington. He works for his pay.” He touched the report a little scornfully. “But who knows that Tetlow is n’t paying him--to say that he ’s a wreck--That makes three salaries--?” “Go and see for yourself,” said the other curtly. The manager’s face grew thoughtful. The shrewd light spread to his fat cheeks. “It ’s a good idea. I ’ll do it--right off.” XV JOHNS’s second visit to Dr. Blake was much briefer than the first. The doctor had refused to advise further without direct consultation. “I must see the man,” he said decisively. And when John had demurred, he had asked the patient’s name. “Simeon Tetlow!” he said thoughtfully, but smiling a little. “Why did n’t you tell me at first it was Sim Tetlow?” “Do you know him?” asked John. “I knew him years ago, in college. He was n’t what he is now--more human blood. I knew him pretty well up to the time he was married.” John looked up. “I did n’t know he was married!” “A beautiful woman,” said the doctor, “too good for him--She died the next year--and the baby--That was twenty years ago and more........ So it’s Sim! I might have guessed. There is n’t a man in a thousand miles that fits the case as he does--Driving himself to death!” The young man waited directions.