Grant could only gape at him. "Don't you know Margaret has gone to New York?" "I saw it in the paper, but--" "Now, don't go back a week to ancient history." "I don't believe it," foamed Grant, so distracted that he sprang up and paced the floor, making wild gestures with his arms and head. Craig watched, seemed hugely amused. "You'll see, about noon to-morrow. You've got to put in the morning shopping for me. I haven't got--You know what sort of a wardrobe mine is. Wardrobe? Hand satchel! Carpet-bag! Rag-bag! If I took off my shoes you'd see half the toes of one foot and all the heel of the other. And only my necktie holds this collar in place. Both buttonholes are gone. As for my underclothes--but I'll spare you these." "Yes, do," said Grant with a vicious sneer. "Now, you've got to buy me a complete outfit." Craig drew a roll of bills from his pocket, counted off several, threw them on the table. "There's four hundred dollars, all I can afford to waste at present. Make it go as far as you can. Get a few first-class things, the rest decent and substantial, but not showy. I'll pay for the suits I've got to get. They'll have to be ready-made--and very good ready-made ones a man can buy nowadays. We'll go to the tailor's first thing--about seven o'clock in the morning, which'll give him plenty of time for alterations." "I won't!" exploded Grant, stopping his restless pacing and slamming himself on to a chair. "Oh, yes, you will," asserted Craig, with absolute confidence. "You're not going back on me." "There's nothing in this--nothing! I've known Rita Severence nearly twenty years, and I know she's done with you." Craig sprang to his feet, went over and laid his heavy hand heavily upon Arkwright's shoulder. "And," said he, "you know me. Did I ever say a thing that didn't prove to be true, no matter how improbable it seemed to you?" Arkwright was silent. "Grant," Craig went on, and his voice was gentle and moving, "I need you. I must have you. You won't fail me, will you, old pal?" "Oh, hell!--I'll go," said Grant in a much-softened growl. "But I know it's a wild-goose chase. Still, you do need the clothes. You're a perfect disgrace." Craig took away his hand and burst into his noisy, boyish laughter, so reminiscent of things rural and boorish, of the coarse, strong spirits of the happy-go-lucky, irresponsibles that work as field hands and wood-haulers. "By cracky, Grant, I just got sight of the remnants of that dig I gave you. It was a beauty, wasn't it?" Arkwright moved uneasily, fumbled at his collar, tried to smile carelessly. "I certainly am the luckiest devil," Craig went on. "Now, what a stroke pushing you over and throttling you was!" And he again laughed loudly. "I don't follow you," said Grant sourly. "What a vanity box you are! You can't take a joke. Now, they're always poking fun at me--pretty damn nasty! some of it--but don't I always look cheerful?" "Oh--YOU!" exclaimed Grant in disgust.