He worked rapidly, and by noon the accounts were done. It was Christmas Eve. Toward evening the sky became gray, with flakes of snow in the air. Vane walked up to Central Park, and returned to dress for dinner. Where was he to dine? The club was the best place to meet people. His lodgings were dark, and he had some difficulty in finding a match; then he dropped one of his shirt studs on the floor and had to grope for it. Another one broke, and he threw open the drawer of his shaving-stand, impatiently, to find one to replace it. Lying in the drawer was an old revolver he had brought back from Minnesota two years before. He took it out, placed the muzzle at his chest, and drew the trigger. As he fell on the floor, he turned once over upon his side, holding up his hands before his eyes. * * * * * So John ended his story. Of course he told it much less elaborately, that evening in the club, than I have written it here. I suppose I have told it more as if I were a novelist, trying to write a story. John gave the facts briefly; but he described Vane's character pretty carefully, even to his thoughts, as he had known the man so intimately. Most of these descriptions I have tried to reproduce. And he ended the story as I have ended it, even to the very words. It was a story six years old when he told it to us; the man was forgotten, and the girl was married. His suicide was at first ascribed to financial difficulties, and the excitement soon subsided when his banking accounts were shown to be correct. I do not remember that there was very much said when John got through. It was very late at night; most of the men were sleepy and we all had to be down-town early in the morning. There was, indeed, a silence for some time. Finally the Major drew a long breath. "Well," said he, "my opinion remains the same." "And mine." "And mine," chimed in voices. "The man was a fool," said Schuyler, simply. "It was cowardly to shoot himself," said Daisy Blake. "And to shoot himself for a girl!" cried Schuyler. "Just think what a fellow may do with fifty thousand a year!" "She was a woman," said John. "Was she a woman? that is just the question," said the Major. "The question," said another man, who had not yet spoken, "is whether he really loved Baby Thomas--or the English girl, after all." This was a new view of the case; and a moment's silence followed. "No man, to see Mrs. Malgam now, would think a fellow had shot himself for her," said another. "How does she come to be Mrs. Malgam?" "Oh, Malgam is her second husband," said Blake. "She has grown tremendously fat." "Well, good-night," said the Major, rising. "Speaking of fifty thousand a year, how much did Vane really leave?" said Schuyler to John. "A million and a half, I believe." "Whew!" said Schuyler; "I had no idea of that." "The granger roads dropped half a point, when his death was known," said the Major, putting on his coat.