And now he had returned, and had to admit to himself and the others that he had failed. He forgot his own desire; he wanted the association for the great good it would do his people. He seated himself, and mechanically his eyes sought the clock again. It tick-tocked the minutes away, and the minutes became hours, and every hour drew him near the end. If he could present twenty-five thousand dollars to the Y.M.C.A. by twelve o'clock that night, it would be saved. Suddenly it occurred to him to go into the street and walk about for a time. Maybe he could forget it. He picked up his hat, that he had thrown on the floor in his absentmindedness, and drawing on his overcoat, made his way thither. It was a crisp night, and the chill, as he struck the street, made him quicken his steps, and he walked briskly in the direction of the river. He observed with a start, presently, that he was going in the same direction and the same street, he had taken before going north. The incident and the words he had overheard came back to him, and he thought of Mildred with a pang of the heart. "I wish I could see her now," he said; and then, in the next breath, he said no. "I would have to tell her that I had failed, after her kind words. She said I would succeed. Yes, she said that--and meant it." He walked on, and finally fell to talking to himself aloud. "Yes, Wilson Jacobs, with all you have been through, you have come to this in the end. You've failed." And then something somewhere in his mind said: "Yes, you have failed, but don't despair. All may not be lost. As long as there is life, there is hope." He laughed at this, and wondered then at the strange caprice of the human brain. "Wonderful," he commented. "I wonder how did man ever come to be. In the years when he was wild, that was different. But now he is becoming so wise, that almost miracles are accomplished. He continues to grow wiser as the years go by, until I wonder what it will all come to in the end." By now he had reached the place where he overheard the voices of a few weeks before. It was dark. Not a soul nor a sound came from within. He stood where he had heard the voices, but no voices came to him that night. He presently retraced his footsteps. He could, at least, be home and comfort his sister. She could not be allowed to be alone while the old year died and the new sprang into being. He dragged himself along in an aimless fashion, not hurrying. As he figured in his mind, he had yet two hours. When he arrived at the house and entered, he resumed his seat in the study, and, since there was nothing else to do, he resumed his task of watching the clock. Not as much time was left as he thought for. It was now almost eleven. In one hour and a few minutes, it was goodby to seventy-five thousand dollars for the purpose of building and establishing a Y.M.C.A. for the black youth of the city.