His eye fell upon the vacant place across the table, and he came back sharply to present realities. He had not seen Harriet since Tuesday afternoon, had heard nothing from her since the little note asking him to excuse her for not coming down to dinner. He had gone to the Bagsburys’ house twice on Wednesday, but neither time had she been able to see him. He missed her, even in busy times like these. He wanted to talk over this last action with her before he went into it; not that he needed any help, but simply for the stimulating effect of her interest. He had thought a good many times in the last year that she was not her old self; that she had been losing her sure grasp of a situation and her quick eye for an opportunity; but he saw now how badly he had misjudged her. Her foresight in warning John when it was too late to do any harm, but so that it might help to straighten out the tangle afterward, delighted him, and assured him that she was still the Harriet of ten years ago. And how plucky she was! She had been too tired to come down to dinner, but she had nerved herself for that long ride down to the Bagsburys’ house to carry out the stratagem that had occurred to her. She must have been horribly fagged to have broken down that way, though. Perhaps it was just as well that she was spared the exciting days that were following her collapse. They could talk it all over afterward, anyway. And he was glad that it was his last fight. He had meant to stop on his way to the office and find out what her condition was this morning; now he decided to telephone instead; but, just before he went out, he changed his mind once more. He would do neither. She might want to see him and ask a lot of questions, and it was better that he should keep entirely out of the way for a little longer. It would all be over by noon. When Sponley reached his office at nine o’clock, he found Stewart and Ray waiting for him. He nodded to them cordially. “We’re going to have great times this morning. This is going to be the last day of it. You’ll find cigars in my desk there. Help yourselves, will you?” “We haven’t much time for a smoke before the fun begins, have we?” one of them asked. Sponley had disappeared in a little closet, where he seemed to be rummaging about in search of something, and it was a minute or two before he answered. When he came out, he brought a shiny old alpaca coat and a crumpled felt hat. “Yes, you will,” he answered; “all the time you want. I’m going to attend to the fun to-day myself.” One would not have called his face heavy at that moment, and his laugh had an almost boyish ring. He slipped on the coat, and thrust his hands luxuriously into the sagging pockets. “This old rig has been through many a fight, but never a one better than there’ll be to-day. By the Lord Harry, gentlemen, I wouldn’t miss it for fifty thousand dollars.”