"I should say, Thorp," said Indiman, "that Mr. Harding is well qualified for membership in the Utinam Club. Will you put him up and I'll second him? The club," he added, by way of explanation to our guest, "is an association of the unsuccessful in life--the non-strenuous, the incapable--above all, the unlucky." "Rest assured that my eligibility is beyond question," answered Mr. Harding, with a smile. "In a society where misfortune confers a certain cachet I may confidently expect to attain distinction." "Do you really consider yourself an abnormally unlucky person?" said Indiman, seriously. "I have a reason for asking." "Upon my soul," returned the young man, warmly. "I verily believe that I have a genius for getting on the wrong side of things. If I should wager you that I am alive at this moment there would be a bolt out of the blue before the money could be paid over." A heavily built man of elderly appearance entered the dining-hall. He was accompanied by a friend who might be a banker or broker. The pair picked out a table on the opposite side of the room and immediately plunged into earnest conversation, their heads close together and speaking in guarded undertones. "The gentleman with the gray hair," said young Mr. Harding, eagerly, "that is Senator Morrison, chairman of the committee on foreign relations. He must be just in from Washington. Congress, you know, is in extra session." "Ah, yes; an able man," said Indiman, politely. "He would know--he would know," muttered Harding, disjointedly. His burning gaze fixed itself upon the two men at the distant table, as though by sheer will-power he would surprise the secret of their whispering lips. "He must--he does know." "What?" asked Indiman. "Man, man, it's a matter of millions! Panama Trading Company common stock is quoted at 70, and everything depends upon the passage by the Senate of the canal treaty. The committee must have come to a decision, and Morrison knows. I tell you he knows--he knows. One word--it would be enough--Wall Street--Panama common--" Indiman did not answer; he seemed preoccupied, indifferent even, his chair pushed back from the table and his eyes half closed. Let me explain that the small side-tables in the Utinam Club dining-room are not set flush against the wall, as is usually the case, but at some little distance from it. Consequently, when there is a party of three at a table, one man sits on the inside with his back to the wall, a sensible arrangement in that it allows the waiter free access by the unoccupied outer side of the table. It so happened that Indiman had this inside seat. Harding's lips moved mechanically. "The treaty, the treaty!" he repeated again and again. "The committee reports to-morrow; the Senate is certain to act upon its recommendation. If I only knew!"